


The Courtship of LeFou

by rhye



Series: Le Fiston Universe [2]
Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2018-11-04 17:29:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 48,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10995582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhye/pseuds/rhye
Summary: Immediately following "The Last Refuge" and immediately proceeding "Le Fiston", this is the story of how Gaston and LeFou make it work. It's just a mix of fluff and smut. That's all it will ever be.Feel free to leave smut or fluff requests or prompts in the comments. If they fit into the emotional story arc, I will include them in some future chapter.





	1. July

**Author's Note:**

> Each month gets its own chapter and hopefully aesthetic. This chapter picks up immediately after The Last Refuge, as in the next morning.

Gaston woke up in a nest of warm limbs and wild hair. His first instinct was to bury his face into the other body. He was rock hard, and ground against the soft flesh of whatever wench he’d bedded last night. He couldn’t immediately remember who it was, but it didn’t matter. She’d take his cock whether he said the right name or the wrong one. She had a lovely ass, he thought, as he pressed his erection harder against her full rump. She shifted and---

 _Oh_. Gaston’s eyes sprung open. He was in LeFou’s bedroom. He was in LeFou’s _bed_. Gaston had been having a half-dream about a woman, but it had been shattered to a thousand pieces when, upon pressing his cock into his bedmate, he’d felt a returning cock pressing back. “LeF-- Fabien!” Gaston gasped and sat up.

“Who did you think I was?” LeFou asked, eyes lidded, smiling coyly.

“Sorry, I…” Gaston shook his head, clearing it of the dream. “I was disoriented.”

LeFou’s smile dropped. “Who did you think I was?” This time it was not a flirty question, but a demand for answers.

“It doesn’t matter.” Gaston leaned down and kissed LeFou on the forehead, then sat back up. He stayed just out of LeFou’s reach.

LeFou pouted. He reached for Gaston, shifting to bring his own erection into contact with Gaston’s leg again.

Gaston recoiled as if burnt. “I don’t want to…”

“You definitely do want to,” LeFou said. “I felt that much.”

“Drop it, Fabien.”

LeFou’s brows knit together, but he moved away from Gaston. “You can call me LeFou again. I don’t mind.”

“You did just a few days ago.”

“That was when I thought you were mocking how easily manipulated I was.”

“Well then, I will continue to call you Fabien until you are convinced I will never manipulate you again.” And that brought him directly to the point. He had promised to court LeFou, and he intended for that to begin today.

“You can call me whatever you want so long as you let me touch you,” LeFou whispered.

Gaston hesitated. He was aware that he had not done the work of earning LeFou’s trust, but Stanley’s and Belle’s words both rang through his head. Was he just punishing himself? Did he need to forgive himself? He was giving himself a headache from thinking about it.

And then, before he had made up his mind about whether or not to let LeFou touch him, LeFou’s hand was slipping into his trousers and Gaston’s brain ceased working altogether. He gasped at the sensation. It was not unfamiliar; women had been doing this for him since he was a teenager. This was not one of his feminine conquests, though. This was LeFou. Gaston didn’t take his eyes off his companion, barely even allowing himself to blink. LeFou’s hand moved lazily on Gaston’s shaft, as if LeFou was prepared to do this all day. His eyes were lidded and his body relaxed. Gaston was growing even harder than he knew he could. LeFou swept his finger over the tip of Gaston’s cock, and Gaston suddenly needed to _see_. He swept the blankets out of his way and pushed down the waistband of his trousers. He could now see LeFou’s familiar chubby fingers wrapped around his manhood.

“Fabien--” Gaston gasped, and LeFou relaxed his grip to cradle Gaston’s balls before moving back to the shaft. “This is… I can’t…”

“Shh,” LeFou whispered. “I’ve been dreaming of doing this a long time, Gaston.”

Gaston bucked up into the pressure and came so much sooner than he would have thought possible from just a hand on him.

LeFou was smiling blissfully at Gaston. He picked up an edge of the blanket and began meticulously cleaning Gaston’s ejaculate from their bodies. Here was LeFou, taking care of him again. The thought was too much for Gaston, who effortlessly flipped LeFou into his back, then straddled him. He traced his teeth and tongue from LeFou’s ear down his neck just as he had the previous night. This time, though, he was ruthless. He made sure to suck and bite hard enough to leave marks. They would be right on LeFou’s neck where everyone could see them. Gaston ground his knee into LeFou’s erection and wondered if he should return the favor LeFou had granted him. He hesitated too long in this decision; someone started banging on the front door of the cottage. Gaston froze for a second. LeFou’s hips were still making jerking motions, grinding LeFou’s manhood into Gaston’s thigh. It was an unusual sensation, to feel a hot cock pressed against him. Unusual, but not at all unpleasant.

“LeFou?,” a voice called from outside. “Gaston?”

“Stanley,” LeFou whispered, his hips stilling.

“Just stay quiet and he’ll go away,” Gaston suggested.

LeFou frowned at him and looked about to censure Gaston, so Gaston went back to his kissing, dipping below the neck of LeFou’s nightgown to continue the trail of bites across LeFou’s shoulder. LeFou went insensate again, his cock searching for friction.

And then there was a knock at the shuttered window of the bedroom. To Gaston’s horror, he saw the shutters had not been locked, and the knock had cracked them open a tad. “Bonjour,” Stanley said as he proceeded to push the shutters all the way open.

LeFou rolled away from Gaston, breathing heavily.

“Am I interrupting anything?” Stanley asked, looking puzzled.

“No,” LeFou said.

“Yes,” Gaston said.

“No,” LeFou reiterated.

Gaston rolled onto his side and huffed in disappointment. “No, not at all, please feel free to come into the bedroom at all hours…”.

“I can come back later,” Stanley suggested.

“No, no,” LeFou said, sitting up. “What is it, Stanley?”

“I know it’s been a few days since you’ve been to the market so I brought some things.”

“I’ll be at the door in one moment,” LeFou said. He then dressed quickly, his erection diminished to near flaccidity, and scampered to the door.

Gaston moved more slowly, feeling something like resentment and jealousy. He didn’t bother dressing at all, though he did take a washcloth across his stomach to make sure his ejaculate was truly gone, and then re-tied the trousers in which he slept. Gaston was often hot at night and never wore a full gown, preferring to sleep shirtless. He tied his hair and slipped into the main room of the cottage, where LeFou was talking jovially with Stanley as they stowed the market goods.

Gaston moved to the kitchen area where they stood. There were apples, melons, nectarines, bread with cheese baked in, and some sort of fruit-filled tart. No meat, he noticed with chagrin. No eggs either, though LeFou’s chickens might have provided a couple overnight. Stanley was setting the tarts each on plates at the table. Three plates, three tarts. He turned to see Gaston and Gaston noticed that Stanley’s eyes fell on Gaston’s chest. Stanley’s breath caught in his throat at the sight. Gaston relished the reaction. He wanted LeFou to be proud of the man he’d caught, proud to be seen with Gaston the Hunter.

The desire sparked some natural jealousy in Gaston, and he caught LeFou on the shoulder. He untied LeFou’s cravat. The love bites on LeFou’s neck were now fully visible. LeFou was watching him with wide eyes. Gaston smiled and said, “That’s much better.”

Stanley had an expressive face, and it colored with emotions-- jealousy, arousal, shame. Gaston loved the idea of people realizing LeFou was his. Perhaps it would not be hard to go out into the town after all. Was there anyone who would stand against himself _and_ a prince? Stanley was right-- no one would speak out and everyone would know. Gaston felt himself growing hard at the realization. He eyed Stanley with distaste, wishing Stanley would leave him and LeFou alone again to continue where they had left off.

Alas, it was not to happen. They ate their fruit tarts, then LeFou went to hay the horses and fetch the eggs. Stanley cleaned the dishes. And Gaston took this cue to get dressed.

By the time Gaston had put on his suit, Stanley had left. LeFou was in the kitchen. Gaston came up behind him and tried nuzzling the back of LeFou’s neck. LeFou was cracking eggs into a cup. Rather than return Gaston’s affections, LeFou passed over the cup, saying, “You’d better keep your strength up.”

“I feel as strong as an ox,” Gaston answered, grinning.

LeFou simply rolled back one of Gaston’s sleeves, displaying the still purple wrist. “I’ve seen your ankles too,” he said. “And you’ve got scrapes all over your back. I imagine your muscles ache.” LeFou reached out and squeezed one of Gaston’s shoulders and Gaston pulled back in pain. “Sit down, mon ours. Let me care for you.”

Gaston drank his eggs in one swallow and shook his head. “You’ve taken care of me enough. Let me take care of you.”

LeFou was smiling, but all he said was, “You can’t even take care of yourself. I need to clean the horse’s stalls today, so please, just sit for a bit.” LeFou poured him a glass of water, waved adorably, and then went out the back door.

Gaston could not let this happen. It would be too easy to fall into the comfort of letting LeFou do everything for him. It was beyond tempting, and his muscles did ache, but he needed to prove himself. Not just to LeFou. He needed to prove himself to _himself_ , prove that he could be the sort of--- husband? What did you call two people who were both men but were like a husband and wife?-- he wanted to prove he could do that. And so he knew he had to start at least where he’d started when he’d attempted to make Belle his wife. He picked up his hat and ducked out the door.

The July morning was unseasonably cool and cloudy. He knew already what he wanted-- flowers. But he also knew he did not have the courage yet to go to the market. Luckily, the flower vendors, who were currently at the market with their cart, lived just next door to LeFou. There were flowers blooming all over their back field. Surely they wouldn’t miss a couple. Gaston vaulted their fence and gathered a good-sized handful, then turned towards the barn to catch up with LeFou.

LeFou was mucking Buddy’s stall and singing quietly to himself. Gaston listened for a moment. He did not know the tune, but the key and chord progressions were obvious enough, so he joined in on harmony. LeFou’s raking stopped and he smiled over at Gaston, singing more loudly. Gaston approached slowly and swept the flowers out from behind his back. LeFou stopped singing abruptly. “A song _and_ flowers? I thought I told you to rest.”

“I cannot rest outside of your presence, mon amour.” Gaston pulled one flower from the bunch and tucked it behind LeFou’s ear, hoping this didn’t seem too feminine. It was a bright coral pink, almost the same color as LeFou’s blushing cheeks. Gaston felt joy fill him up, seeing LeFou so happy and surprised. “Now, do you have an extra fork? I’ll get started on Magnifique’s stall.”

“Uh, yes,” LeFou said, breaking out of his daze. He pointed to his equipment shed, and Gaston got to work helping LeFou with the daily chores.

*****

The day passed into evening, and LeFou made a modest dinner. They washed the dishes shoulder-by-shoulder in a kitchen scented with Gaston’s pilfered flowers. Gaston craved beer and company and wanted badly to go to the Tavern, but he still did not feel they would be welcomed. Stanley was probably right that the town would move on quickly, but not instantly.

They had some wine before the fire and spoke of little nothings-- the weather, the horses, game. Summer was a good time for trapping small game or fishing, but it was a dead time for the large game Gaston preferred. Deer were always plentiful, but even Gaston refused to shoot a doe with fawns. This year’s fawn was next year’s yearling buck, after all. Sometimes Gaston let the yearlings go, too. He prized those with enormous racks, the bucks who had dodged hunters for a decade or more, and were finally succumbing to his prowess. That was power. Killing a nursing doe was not a challenge. He was sure LeFou had heard this discourse before, but it pleased him to give it, so he did.

Finally, LeFou yawned and declared his desire to go to bed. Gaston intended to stay up a bit longer, as he had some planning to do. LeFou hesitated before disappearing into the bedroom, and Gaston’s heart skipped a beat knowing that LeFou still doubted him.

Once LeFou was asleep, Gaston slipped to the storage shed in the barn. He had seen something there earlier when he was helping in the barn-- a large basket, a collection of blankets. It was clearly intended for picnics. Had it belonged to LeFou’s parents? Gaston shook out the blankets in the dark, the folded them into the basket and returned to the cottage. In the kitchen he packed fruit and bread and leftover cooked chicken as well as the rest of the wine. He stowed the basket high in the barn rafters, hoping no animals would bother it overnight. Task accomplished, he took off his suit and slipped into bed in his trousers.

LeFou barely registered that he was there, mumbling something and snuffling up to him. Gaston’s heart felt swollen with the implicit trust and comfort LeFou took in his presence, at least when asleep. LeFou’s doubts had not yet seeped into his heart, and for that Gaston could only thank his lucky stars.

*****

The next morning, Gaston rose early and dressed sharply in his fine beige suit. He checked on the food, saddled the horses, and watched as LeFou continued sleeping. He tried to be patient, but it had never been his strength. He pondered the best way to wake LeFou, and tried to imagine what he would have done if LeFou were a woman. Gaston was used to being overly-affectionate with the women he did decide to bed, though these had been less frequent lately. The truth was, in the past few years there was a time or two he’d had trouble mustering an erection. He’d thought it was because he needed a wife. But no, it turns out what he’d needed was a husband.

LeFou was what he had been looking for all this time, LeFou who had been _right there_ practically offering himself on a platter. Gaston felt a swell of emotion. He was proud of LeFou for never giving up on him, grateful for LeFou, and filled with love to the tips of his toes. So he did not have to think very hard on how to wake LeFou, nor did he have to imagine LeFou was a woman. He knelt by the bedside, where one of LeFou’s pale, thick arms hung off the bed. Gaston took the hand in his and began to lay kisses on the skin. It was intoxicating. The smell of LeFou’s skin was his distilled essence, a scent so familiar that Gaston had to overcome his desire to climb back into bed with his beloved. Under the pale skin was the suggestion of freckles, and Gaston knew these freckles bloomed in the Sun. LeFou didn’t so much ‘tan’ as ‘connect freckles’. He found himself laughing against the inside of LeFou’s elbow at the thought, and LeFou finally stirred, blinking open cloudy eyes to see Gaston at his bedside.

LeFou smiled beatifically. “Good morning,” he said.

“Is it?” Gaston asked. “Is that the Sun? I thought it was your own radiance that woke me.”

When he’d deliver such a line to a woman, she would giggle and swoon. But LeFou grinned, his eyebrow tilting, and said, “Really? Is that why you’re already dressed? Did my radiance do that too?”

Gaston laughed and released LeFou’s hand. “Get dressed. Come quickly,” Gaston begged.

LeFou’s eyebrow remained up a moment longer, but he threw off the covers and rose. He sifted through various sets of clothing before squinting at Gaston’s finery. “Are we going somewhere?”

“No.” Gaston threw the first set of clothes he saw at LeFou. “Hurry up.”

LeFou looked like he was going to ask a lot of questions, but he pressed his lips together and obeyed. Once he was dressed, Gaston pulled him out to the barn and shoved him towards the saddled Buddy. Still, LeFou did not ask questions, and Gaston loved that about him. The rode out of the barn and Gaston set a path towards the eastern hills.

The days were still unseasonably cool and clouds covered the Sun. Gaston was glad for his coat. He kept the horses moving for the better part of an hour before stopping at the top of one particularly lovely little hill. There, his dismounted.

LeFou hesitated. “Are we stopping here? What are we doing?”

Gaston grinned and began to remove the basket and blankets from Magnifique. He spread the blankets on the soft grass. LeFou was staring at Gaston’s handiwork. “A picnic?” he asked.

“Well, I’m certainly having one. You can choose to stay on your horse if you like, but I packed enough for two.”

LeFou slipped ungracefully from Buddy, who in turn was more than happy to rip mouthfuls of lush grass next to Magnifique. LeFou approached Gaston as he might a wild animal, while Gaston set out their lunch on plates and unstoppered the wine. He lifted the bottle and said, “To the most wonderful man and his new lover.”

“Am I the lover?” LeFou asked, eyebrow raised

Gaston pouted. “Aren’t you my lover? Do you prefer a different word?”

“No, no,” LeFou sighed before muttering, “At least I know you aren’t entirely changed.”

“What did I do now?” Gaston asked, catching LeFou’s disappointment if not its source.

LeFou flopped down onto the blanket next to Gaston. “Nothing. What did you bring?”

Gaston showed LeFou the modest spread and LeFou ate with enthusiasm.

Gaston sighed and leaned back on his arms. “I would like to take you to America,” he said apropos of nothing.

“America?” LeFou asked around a mouth full and dripping with juicy apricot.

“Well, you know I was there a short while. You should get a chance to see the world, LeFou.”

LeFou looked out over the rolling hills of France. “I feel like I’ve seen enough of it. I like it here.”

“Mmm, yes,” Gaston said, his mouth quirking. “I once felt as you do. That it would be best to settle down, find a wife, have kids…”

“That was last month.”

“I know, I just mean, I find myself re-evaluating my plans. I have ideas now, mon ami.”

“Ideas?” LeFou looked skeptical.

“But I want you to know that I put you into all my plans, LeFou. Wherever I go, I’ll bring you with me.”

LeFou swallowed and said nothing for a while. He was making a face like he had tasted something bad. “What’s wrong?” Gaston asked. “Get a bad apricot.”

“No. No, no. It’s just…” He waved his hand in that endearing way of his. “I’m sort of like Belle, aren’t I?”

Gaston eyed LeFou, his mind on LeFou’s round belly and large cock. “You are _nothing_ like Belle, I assure you.”

“No, I mean, you approached her with all these plans for her life. _You_ made plans for _her_ life, you see? And now you’re making plans for _my_ life. And you haven’t even asked me.”

Gaston felt his smile slip right off his face. His first emotion was anger. Who was LeFou to think he could circumscribe Gaston’s life plans? But then he realized the answer: LeFou was his love. LeFou was the one he had chosen, the one who had chosen him back. Gaston didn’t think he could breath if LeFou left him, so if Gaston wanted to travel the world and LeFou did not, they would not. LeFou held absolute power over Gaston’s future. He tried to feel angry about this again, but somehow failed. How could he be angry that every future he could imagine, no matter how mundane, had LeFou in it?

“You are right, of course,” Gaston sighed. “And in truth I do love this village. Or I did once.”

“Maybe you could again,” LeFou suggested. “The villagers loved you once. They’ll forgive you.”

“Yes,” Gaston nodded. “You are right. I must not escape the things that make me uncomfortable. I must confront them!”

LeFou had meanwhile finished eating and was gulping down the wine. A cool wind blew, but the clouds shifted and a ray of sunlight hit their little meadow. Wildflowers bobbed and the grass made its own hushing noises. LeFou set aside the wine and laid back, his neck pillowed on Gaston’s leg. “Thank you for this,” he said quietly.

Unable to stop himself, and unwilling to try very hard, Gaston carded one hand through LeFou’s hair, untying the bow for better access. “If you were a woman, we’d probably be ten years married by now with five children,” Gaston said gently. “I’ve loved you a very long time, you know.”

“I did know,” LeFou said. “Or I suspected. Or hoped. Sometimes I convinced myself it was all in my mind, all wishful thinking. Other times, I’d think you had nothing but contempt for me. But then you’d touch my hand or laugh at my jokes and I thought, it’s there, there it is. I’d tell myself, ‘hold onto that, LeFou, and he’ll see you eventually.’”

Gaston’s hand stopped and he moved to squeeze LeFou’s shoulder. He then tugged on LeFou’s shoulder to make him sit up.

“Don’t tell me it’s time to go?” LeFou asked as he sat up. “Surely we can spend a bit more time out here?” He laughed awkwardly at the question.

Gaston leaned forward and tilted LeFou’s chin up. “A bit,” he said, before pressing his lips to LeFou’s. Gaston had a lot of experience with kissing, and he was confident he could apologize better in a kiss than in words. As his lips moved on LeFou’s, his hands slipped under LeFou’s coat. He struggled to pull LeFou’s shirt from his breeches, needing to feel the cool expanse of skin beneath. Gaston finally was able to splay his hand over LeFou’s soft belly, and he felt his groin awaken with the sensation. He wrapped the other hand to LeFou’s back to pull him closer.

LeFou broke the kiss, panting. He bit his lip, hesitating.

“What?” Gaston asked. “Too soon?”

“No, noooo,” LeFou answered musically and laughed. “I was wondering… I assume you have had women put their mouths on you?” To emphasize what he meant, LeFou traced the outline of Gaston’s hard cock through his breeches.

“Yes, I--” Gaston froze, wondering where LeFou was headed with this line of inquiry.

“Could I? Would you mind?”

Before LeFou could even get the entire sentence out of his mouth, Gaston was frantically undoing his breeches, pushing aside the wool to expose his cock. LeFou grinned and licked his lips. And then he went to work.

Gaston had always found this immensely pleasureable, but this time he was paying particular attention as it occurred to him for the very first time that he might one day be expected to return the favor. There was something appealing in the concept, but the execution was a mystery to him, despite having been on the receiving end many, many times. He gasped as LeFou applied just a hint of teeth, and Gaston spared a thought LeFou was inordinately good at this. That had implications that stirred a confusing variety of emotions in Gaston. Gaston leaned back on one arm, and used the other to hold LeFou’s mouth against his manhood. “Do you do this for a lot of men, you whore?”

LeFou slowed his rhythm, then sped it up again, then slowed down. He then removed his mouth completely, and Gaston gasped at the cool breeze on his wet cock.

“I have,” LeFou said quietly, “And I closed my eyes and imagined that every single one of them was you.”

Gaston’s cock twitched, and when LeFou once again enclosed it in his perfect mouth, he was able to absorb almost to the base of Gaston’s long shaft.

“One day I’m going to put that cock inside of you,” Gaston growled. “And you will be mine, mon amour. In every way, Fabien. Do you hear me?”

LeFou nodded and hummed, and Gaston felt something like lightning jolt through him. He could no longer muster the dirty and slightly nauseating image of LeFou’s mouth on other men. His world was reduced to this cherub kneeling between his knees amid the hushing grass on their private hilltop. “Oh god, my god you are an angel,” Gaston panted. “Please, Fabien, please stay with me. I need you. Fa- Fa-” Gaston came with a strangled cry and dropped back into the grass. To the sky above he whispered, his voice leaden with desperation, “Please stay with me.”

LeFou had taken all of Gaston’s seed into himself. He then carefully tied Gaston’s breeches, and moved up to lay his head on Gaston’s chest. “Always, my love,” he whispered.

No lightning struck them down, no rain sprung from the sky. The cool July clouds parted and sunlight filtered down on them and Gaston could only marvel that it had taken him this long to reach for something that had always been so close.


	2. August

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> August rolls around and Gaston and LeFou have continuing work to do both regarding their relationships with each other and their relationship with the town. Or a classier summary: Gaston gives his first handy-j and the boys return to the market.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I would update on Wednesdays but it was done so Imma post it. I doubt I'll hear complaints about being early.

August seemed determined to make up for the unusual cool of July with an intense heat. There were no breezes, no clouds. LeFou could scarcely bring himself to put on his shirt and breeches and would have sooner died than add a coat or cravat. Since they rarely left home, Gaston eschewed even a shirt. A rainstorm at the end of July had revealed the faults in LeFou’s old roof, and Gaston was spending his early August up on the shingles patching it. LeFou truly did not know what he would have done otherwise. Probably enter into a long chain of barters and trades in order to secure a roofer.

LeFou spent his time in the small garden plot. It wasn’t much, but it was a good font of daily staples and had prevented their return to the market this long. There were radishes, carrots, melons, and greens. The chives were knee-high. There were raspberries and strawberries-- at least if LeFou got to them before the rabbits. Gaston had strung up snares around the garden, but LeFou set them off as often as did a hare. They did have rabbit meat for stews at least once a week. It was amazing to LeFou that they were almost self-sufficient. He supposed he could have made bread as well, but there was no need; Stanley dropped off food several times a week. Gaston had even started paying Stanley above the cost of the food.

And so they kept surprisingly busy despite being homebodies. LeFou was almost completely happy.

But only almost. He didn’t want to think too much about it, lest he seem ungrateful. Of all the problems he had worried he would have with Gaston, this had been the last. But the truth was, their love life was not satisfying. LeFou pleasured Gaston by hand or with his mouth once a day if not more, but Gaston had never even touched LeFou. Gaston would happily oblige LeFou by letting him find his own release against Gaston’s leg like a common dog. And as much as LeFou didn’t want to admit it, the truth was becoming painfully clear: Gaston was not attracted to him.

LeFou paused in the process of dropping rolled grape leaves into brine and looked down at his belly. Did Gaston think he was too fat? Or perhaps it was simply the fact that he was a man. Was Gaston not attracted to men as much as he was to women? LeFou had run these thoughts through his head a thousand times, and each time he felt sicker to his stomach. He knew he needed to bring it up to Gaston, but he worried about having his fears confirmed. At least if it was his weight, he might be able to change that.

Just then, Gaston banged in through the back door, shirtless and drenched in sweat. His back was red from long hours in the sun. He crossed the kitchen in one smooth stride, smiling. He flicked LeFou on the shoulder and said, “I think that’s it, old friend. That roof won’t be bothering you for a while.” He picked up one of LeFou’s pickle jars and eyed LeFou through it. LeFou was momentarily greeted with one oversized green eye before Gaston set down the jar and poured himself a glass of water.

“Thanks,” LeFou said.

“Thanks? That’s it? I’ve been up there for two weeks!” Gaston was teasing, but LeFou was in not in a teasing mood.

“Your back looks red,” LeFou offered.

Gaston smiled. “I’m not worried about it. I have you to take care of me.” He winked.

LeFou nodded and looked down at his belly again before returning to his grape leaves.

Gaston set down his water glass. “No, I know that look. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“We always do this. I ask what’s wrong, and you say ‘nothing’, but we both know it’s a lie. From now on, can’t you just answer me? If I ask, I do genuinely want to know.” Gaston’s voice betrayed true frustration.

“It’s just-- it’s silly.” LeFou grimaced and shook his head.

“Mon ami, you are usually silly. If I didn’t like silliness, I’d marry a schoolmarm.”

“We aren’t married,” LeFou said, still watching his own hands roll leaves and stuff jars.

“Well, almost. You do know that I plan to stay with you. Isn’t that marriage?”

LeFou shook his head. “We’re not ‘almost’ married, Gaston. Married people have _sex_.”

“We do that too. All the time,” Gaston said, his arms waving in growing agitation. “More than most married schoolmarms, I’m sure.”

LeFou stopped his rolling to look at Gaston. “You really believe that, don’t you?”

“Believe what?”

“That our… encounters… are as satisfying for me as they are for you.”

Gaston pulled back, clearly stung. “Are they not?”

LeFou poured hot brine into another jar.

Gaston grunted. “Come on. Speak to me. You enjoy it.”

“I do enjoy it,” LeFou said tilting his head. “I would enjoy it more if I could participate more fully.”

“Fully how?”

LeFou felt his frustration rise at Gaston’s sheer obliviousness. “You haven’t even touched my cock!” he exclaimed. “I just get you off, and you _let_ me hump you like a dog. Is it my belly? That’s it, isn’t it?” LeFou held his breath, praying it _was_ his belly and not his cock; he could only get rid of the one.

Gaston stared at him in shock. “Your… belly? Are you serious?”

“I’m fat,” LeFou said.

Gaston rumbled deep in his throat. “You have no idea? You drive me mad, Fabien. Your…” he used his hands to indicate LeFou’s girth, “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.” He set his hands on LeFou’s shoulders.

LeFou laughed nervously. “I know that’s not true. You know _you’re_ perfect, Gaston.”

“Well, physically, yes, that’s obvious.”

LeFou huffed. “What did you think we were talking about?”

“I mean I’m _objectively_ perfect. But you’re _perfect_ for _me_. First, I really do love your body. I know you’re not after all trim or tall, though I will say you are surprisingly strong. But I do. Second, the contrast between us makes me look more handsome to others, don’t you think?”

LeFou’s mouth opened, then closed. He was unsure whether he should agree or complain.

“But more-- if you looked like I did, you would never have waited for me. You’d long ago have run off with some shallow fop. Instead, those likely suitors passed you by long enough for me to come around.” Gaston clapped his hands on LeFou’s shoulders, hard enough to cause LeFou to wince. “You see, we’re a match. You’re as lovely on the inside as I am on the outside.” Gaston, still smiling, rubbed LeFou’s shoulders. “I am far more concerned that you were unsatisfied and never said anything, mon amour.”

LeFou looked down, slightly ashamed of that fact himself. He should have said something sooner.

Gaston hummed, then squeezed LeFou’s shoulders and rocked back and forth slightly, before placing a finger below LeFou’s chin and lifting it so he could kiss LeFou. When he broke the kiss, he pressed his forehead against LeFou’s. “You deserve the absolute truth, Fabien. You have been so patient and giving with me and I thought… You know I have never touched a man, aside from myself. I’m… the first time I tried bedding a girl, I was fourteen. She was a tad older than me, and I got my hands under her dress, and messed myself before I could even get my breeches down. And she _laughed_. I don’t think I could stand it, if I did something to make you laugh at me.”

LeFou placed his hands on either side of Gaston’s face and said, “I never would. _Never_.”

Their lips came together with the crash of waves on a beach. Gaston was already half naked, and LeFou’s hands wandered freely across the sweat-slicked musculature of Gaston’s body. Gaston seemed equally desperate, and began to pull at LeFou’s shirt. Once he got it off, he panted one word to LeFou: “Bed.”

LeFou obliged, stripping off the rest of his clothes awkwardly as he stumbled to the bedroom.

Gaston followed, grinning. “You seem eager.”

“You’d be eager too.”

“I always am.” Gaston pulled off his breeches. He was already barefoot. “Lay down,” he told LeFou, pointing to the bed. “On your back. I want to see all of you.”

LeFou obliged. The cool air and Gaston’s hungry gaze both touched his skin, sending a shiver down his spine.

Gaston walked slowly to the bed, like a hunter stalking prey. He examined LeFou from several angles before prodding him and saying, “Sit up. I want you in my lap.” Gaston sat on the bed, and LeFou slid into his lap. He could feel Gaston’s hard cock pressed against his backside, nudging into his crack, and it was enormously suggestive. LeFou wanted that, be he recognized that this was all new for Gaston. That would be for another day.

Gaston’s arms wrapped around LeFou. His chin rested on LeFou’s shoulder, and his extra height meant he could easily see LeFou’s hardening erection. Gaston reached out and touched it tenderly, with soft little strokes. It was such a light touch, but LeFou’s cock twitched and hardened. Gaston laughed, and the puff of air landed directly in LeFou’s ear. LeFou gasped.

Then Gaston sobered, whispering, “You’ll tell me if I hurt you?” He was holding LeFou’s body against himself with one hand, and the other pumped up and down LeFou’s shaft.

LeFou nodded, but everything Gaston did was exactly right. Why wouldn’t it be? Didn’t Gaston have a cock of his own, and plenty of practice milking it? LeFou leaned back into the warm and solid body of the man he loved, dropping his head back and closing his eyes to more fully appreciate the sensation of Gaston’s hand on him. Gaston was making rhythmic growling sounds and thrusting his own erection into LeFou’s crack with each pump of his hand. LeFou might have lasted longer if Gaston had not insisted on this particular position. He gasped and lifted his hips as he came.

Gaston responded in a way unique to Gaston-- with bites. When LeFou came, Gaston bit his ear, then moved down along his neck, biting and sucking. His hand continued to move on LeFou’s softening cock until LeFou gasped and jerked away from the excess of sensation. Gaston moved both of his arms to wrap around LeFou, holding LeFou down as Gaston ground up against him. Gaston’s fingernails carved half-moons into LeFou’s skin before Gaston cried out with pleasure. LeFou felt Gaston’s wetness on his rump and thighs. LeFou gasped for air, overwhelmed by the intimacy and the joy that came in its path. Gaston was ridiculous after his release. He peppered LeFou with kisses and extolled LeFou’s virtues. And then, not more than two minutes later, he was sound asleep and snoring, sprawled across the bed.

LeFou laughed tenderly. He used a wet rag on his belly for his own release, and on the sleeping Gaston, but a dry rag for Gaston’s seed on himself. He could hardly say why except that he was so very in love with Gaston, and the thought of wearing Gaston’s come on his thighs made his heart stutter in his chest. He dropped the rags into the growing laundry pile and reflected that he’d have to do the wash soon.The thought of bringing rags soaked with Gaston’s come to the town well to wash might have hardened him again if the torpor of the August afternoon weren’t finally soaking into his bones. The bed did look so very inviting… LeFou drank some water, took a piss, and slipped on a nightgown, before settling into bed next to Gaston for an afternoon nap.

*****

Laura Cleríc looked up from her lesson book. She was trying very hard to concentrate, but the whispered argument in the other corner of the library was very distracting. She was sure the Prince and Princess didn’t realize that she could hear every word, but the room echoed. Laura was trying very hard not to eavesdrop, but her attention wouldn’t stay on the words on her page. Being a spinster, she wasn’t entirely sure she understood marriage, but living as she did with her sister and her sister’s husband, she had experience with these sort of whispered spats. Recently, flowers had been disappearing regularly from their yard, and as they sold flowers, this was a bit of a headache. The stress stretched them thin, in part because they all knew who was responsible: Gaston. The flowers had begun disappearing almost as soon as the brute had moved in with LeFou, the kind neighbor boy she had known all her life.

“A person just can’t change that quickly,” Belle whispered.

“I did,” the prince said.

“You didn’t. You always had that in you.”

“But you wouldn’t have ever known if you hadn’t gotten to know me.”

“You’re capable of nuanced thought. Of a _range_ of emotions. I’m convinced he is not capable of either.”

“Again, you once thought the same about me.”

“I’m not suggesting we kill or exile him. I just don’t think I want him at our engagement ball.”

“But you intend to invite LeFou?”

“I _like_ LeFou. When Gaston was dead, or at least when we thought he was, LeFou was such a help here.”

“LeFou’s in _love_ with him. You can’t invite one without the other. The message it would send them that we don’t recognize their relationship--”

“How can you be so sure there _is_ a relationship? How can you even guess what Gaston feels? I am not convinced he is even capable of love.”

The Prince sighed. “Not this again. He broke the curse. That must be love.”

“You have more faith in magic than do I.”

“We do need to invite them both regardless. If we didn’t, it would send a poor message to the townsfolk about the legitimacy of a relationship between two men. That might have dangerous repercussions.”

“Why do we have to have an engagement ball anyway? In addition to a wedding ball? How many balls do we need?”

“You know the castle staff is dying to throw a proper ball. They’ve been pestering us non-stop.”

“Okay. Fine.” She sighed in a huff. “You can invite Gaston, but I won’t allow him to bring any weapons into our home.”

The Prince nodded. “That’s a reasonable request.”

“It is for normal people,” she sighed. “But I’m guessing Gaston will find it intolerable.”

“That’s our solution, then? If he can’t compromise even that much, he should not come?”

She nodded. “That’s the idea. A test.”

The Prince leaned forward and kissed her gently, muttering something that Laura could not hear. She blushed to the top of her head and tried once again to focus on her lessons. But she was not happy to hear that Gaston was to be invited to the engagement ball. She knew the Prince believed LeFou and Gaston to be truly in love, but Laura shared Belle’s view of the situation. LeFou was such a gentle soul and so easily duped. He deserved far better.

But who would confront Gaston about it? The Prince believed Gaston, and there was no one with authority to overrule the Prince. And even if there had been, any confrontation with Gaston was likely to turn deadly. The man was a danger to himself and others.

And he was a danger that was now living just next door to Laura. The thought kept her up at night. Her goal was to mind her lessons, learn as much as she could, and maybe get a job on her own. Then she could find her own room and move very far away from Gaston.

*****

It was a clear morning in late August when Gaston decided he’d had enough of hiding in LeFou’s cottage. Stanley brought some goods from the market, but neglected to bring any of Gaston’s favorites. There was once again no meat or eggs. Gaston helped Stanley put away the goods while LeFou tended to the horses. Once all the items were stowed, Gaston put his hand on Stanley’s shoulder and shook the young man a little. “Listen,” he said. “It’s good of you to make sure we have food. But we cannot hide here forever. This will be the last time. Tomorrow, we’ll go ourselves.” Stanley looked more surprised than anything. Gaston shook his head. “Really, my friend, you can’t have expected this would continue. You were the one who told me the town would eventually move on.”

“No. I mean, yes, it will and it has mostly, but…” Stanley shrugged.

“Yes, I understand,” Gaston said. “You relish the excuse to visit us. Or is it an excuse to visit _him_?”

Stanley knew well enough not to answer that question, but Gaston already knew the truth. “Stanley, you must move on. There is someone out there for you. But it will never be LeFou.”

Stanley shook his head. “It’s not like that,” he said, raising his hands. “You are my friends.”

“What about Tom and Dick? You three were always close.”

Stanley shook his head sadly. Roses bloomed on his cheeks as he explained, “They saw me dance with LeFou at the ball, and now we are not on the same terms we once were.”

“You might remind them the Prince is on your side. And if that doesn’t work, remind them that _I’m_ on your side.” Gaston picked up one of the fruit tarts Stanley kept bringing over and took a huge bite. He’d grown used to them. “Look, you’re welcome here as a friend, but you need other friends, too. Go now, before you lose your nerve.”

Stanley looked as though he wasn’t sure whether to be affronted or grateful for the advice. In the end he simply obeyed Gaston, as people did, and bid him adieu. Gaston liked Stanley well enough, but he was happy to have the cottage back to himself. He was also quite happy to have _LeFou_ to himself, as LeFou doted over Stanley just a tad too much for Gaston’s preference. Gaston knew it was LeFou’s kind heart, but he didn’t quite care.

LeFou came in the back door and stopped in the kitchen. “Where’s Stanley?” he asked with a hint of trepidation in his voice.

“I sent him home,” Gaston answered.

“Everything alright?”

“Yes, fine. But I let him know we’ll be going to the market ourselves starting tomorrow.”

LeFou’s eyes grew wide. “We will be?” His voice rose to a squeak.

“Fabien. Mon amour.” Gaston approached LeFou and threw an arm over his shoulder. “We cannot hide in here forever.”

“Yeah…” LeFou said, though he sounded as though he rather wished he could.

*****

They stood at the end of the cottage lane. LeFou watched Gaston warily. Gaston seemed to be in good spirits. He wore his leather bag over one shoulder. He’d handed LeFou a purse of coins. Gaston luckily had a good deal of money. He had an inheritance from his father, his Army officers’ pension, and savings from the sale of hides and furs. To add to that, he was not much used to paying for things in Villeneuve. Up until the incident at the castle, no one had considered charging him unless he was buying something fine. The purse felt heavy in LeFou’s hands. He was unused to having such a sum of money. He had his own small enlisted man’s pension he could use on clothes and groceries, but nothing besides.

Gaston looked entirely like his old self. He was dressed smartly and held his head high. But this did not fool LeFou. After all, Gaston had stopped at the end of the lane. The Gaston of old would not have stopped at all. The reason was unmistakably nerves.

“You know,” LeFou said, “We could just--”

As he was in the middle of speaking, Gaston walked off. The message was clear enough; this was going to happen today and any attempt to delay would be rebuffed. LeFou ran a few steps to catch up.

As they turned the corner, Gaston was smiling. He raised a hand to hail the first villager he saw. “Léo, bonjour, lovely day, don’t you think?”

Gaston’s determination to seem as though nothing had changed was admirable, but inescapably things _were_ different now. This was evident when the formerly chatty Léo dropped his basket to shove his little girl behind him, never answering Gaston. Gaston poorly concealed his chagrin. One of the things LeFou loved most about Gaston was that all of his emotions passed across his expressive features, and LeFou could read these as Belle did her books.

LeFou cleared his throat. “I’m sure he was just surprised,” he offered.

At the main intersection, the streets were flooded with people, and a slow change came over the crowd. First, the ones nearest them stopped talking. Then those further away noticed the change and stopped as well. Within half a minute, the town square was silent aside from the children and animals. The adults moved backwards, making space for Gaston and LeFou. Gaston was only poorly concealing his rage by this point, and LeFou grew worried that an alteration was unavoidable.

Gaston stepped onto the ledge of the fountain as though to speak, and LeFou wanted to tackle him back to the ground. If LeFou and Gaston were waiting for the gossip to die down, surely starting more could not help the process. LeFou knew better than to interfere with Gaston’s plans, though. Gaston had an indomitable spirit and would never be deterred once his mind was set.

“Friends,” Gaston called out with false cheerfulness. “How I have missed you. Rest assured I am much healed from my ordeal.”

When that did not seem to assure anyone, Gaston frowned down at LeFou, who stage-whispered, “Get down.”

Gaston stepped down at once, and the crowd seemed to take a collective breath. “Come on,” LeFou said, pulling Gaston towards the market. “Let’s just get our stuff and go home.”

“I don’t understand,” Gaston said. “Are they angry with me? Afraid of me? Is it _our_ relationship that repels them?”

“You know, I think it’s all three,” LeFou said as he passed coins to a wary-but-not-unpleasant Ange Frère at the egg cart.

They said little as they walked through the market. Most other patrons kept their distance, and most cart owners preferred to deal only with LeFou. Finally, they reached the end of the row. Gaston’s bag sagged heavily on his shoulder. LeFou looked around. Most people were ignoring them now, thanks to the half hour spent here, but still the townsfolk carved a wide path around them. Gaston was staring at him with an unusual intensity that made him feel strange-- uncomfortable, awkward, and a bit aroused. “What?” LeFou asked.

“We’re here,” Gaston said softly. LeFou looked around again. They were just down the street from the fountain, where the path leveled a bit. It was nowhere special. And then all at once LeFou’s memory supplied the image and he understood. This random bit of cobblestone, a place in the street that villagers passed over and around a thousand times a day, was where Gaston had almost met an unspeakable end.

LeFou swallowed hard. “I didn’t notice.” The place looked different surrounded by vendors and children, and without an enormous wood pile and spit. _Spit_! LeFou felt his stomach drop at the idea of Gaston being _roasted_ on a _spit_ like a _pig_. He suddenly very desperately wanted to be home. To hell with this ridiculous village.

“Why did you save me?” There was no humor or bravado in Gaston’s voice. It’s naked emotion was unusual, even for LeFou.

“I… I was just thinking about…”

“That Portuguese man,” Gaston finished, nodding. “That’s what I was thinking of as well.”

Without realizing what he was doing, LeFou had lifted one of Gaston’s arms and pulled back the sleeve of Gaston’s coat. He saw the silvery scars of scrapes, though you had to be looking for them to know they were there.

“I wouldn’t have blamed you if you’d lit the first torch,” Gaston said, though LeFou knew it wasn’t true. Gaston was quite good at blaming others. Still, the guilt behind the admission was genuine.

“Let’s not talk about it,” LeFou suggested.

Gaston nodded and they turned to walk towards home.

It had been an awkward trip to the market, and not a single soul had even spoken to Gaston, but it hadn’t been a failure. They had fresh eggs and sausages and milk as well as bread and fruit. Ghislain had foisted two cheese samples on LeFou. LeFou had even been given a flower by their neighbor Laura. So yes, LeFou thought they could reasonably do their own shopping. After all, it was bound to get better from here.


	3. September

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An argument, a ball, and intercrural.

LeFou was already awake when there was a quiet knock on the door one early morning. He opened it to find Stanley proffering a fancy envelope on which was scrawled some equally fancy script. LeFou couldn’t have read it even if it were neatly typed, but this was just nonsense to him. “Bonjour! What is this?” he asked Stanley.

“I wanted to make sure you got it. I thought Gaston… if Gaston were to receive it, you might never know.”

“What does it say?”

“It’s an invitation for a royal ball held in honor of the engagement of His Royal Highness Prince Adam. To, um, Belle.”

“A ball?” LeFou couldn’t help the flutter in his chest. He had liked the previous ball, though the entire experience had been marred by his sheer fury at Gaston-- for existing at all, for being so goddamn attractive, for trying to kill Prince Adam, and most of all for being so selfish that he’d fallen to his death without a single thought on how that might affect LeFou. In the aftermath, LeFou had refused to search for Gaston’s body, taking sadistic pleasure in the thought of him being eaten by wolves just as Gaston had planned for Maurice. By the time of the ball a week after the transformation of the Beast into Prince Adam, LeFou’s angry decision had come home to roost. He saw Gaston’s lifeless body being eaten by wolves in his better dreams. In his nightmares, Gaston was alive but grievously injured when it happened. By the day of the ball, LeFou had stopped even trying to sleep. He hadn’t shaved since the incident. Stanley had cleaned him up for the ball. He’d danced and ate and drank and found companionship and joy in Stanley. For a little while, he forgot Gaston. But when he fell asleep, Gaston was always there, dead or dying alone.

But now, he could go to a ball _with_ Gaston. The food! The music! The dancing! The fashions! He thanked Stanley, excited to tell Gaston.

But Stanley seemed to anticipate a problem. He stopped LeFou with a hand on his shoulder, sobering him. “If he will not go with you, you tell me. I will go as your date.”

LeFou gaped. It had not occurred to him that Gaston would refuse to go.

*****

“Absolutely not,” Gaston said frowning. He was just waking up, still shirtless and blurry-eyed, and LeFou decided now was the right time to lay this mess on him?

“Why not?” LeFou’s brows dropped in anger.

“They don’t want me there, I don’t want to be there, it seems like an easy decision.”

“ _I_ want to be there. Does that figure into your thoughts at all, or are my desires meaningless?”

“You’re a grown man, Fabien. Go if you want to go. You should go with Stanley.” Gaston knew LeFou would never go without him, let alone with Stanley, so it was an idle threat.

“If you won’t go, I _will_ go with Stanley. I’ll have you know he already asked me.” LeFou executed one of his adorably sassy spins and left the room.

Gaston sighed and slumped back onto the bed. He still held out hope that LeFou was bluffing. Yes, that was most likely. Stanley would never double-cross Gaston that way. LeFou was attempting to use jealousy to manipulate Gaston, and Gaston would be damned if he let it happen.

*****

As days turned into a week, Gaston began to entertain the seed of doubt. LeFou had produced a dark suit with fine golden braiding from somewhere. Gaston had never seen it before, but it could not be used for anything less formal than a royal ball. LeFou left occasionally without saying where he was going, and Gaston would catch glimpses of him meeting Stanley down the lane. Gaston tried to swallow his jealousy. It was bitter in his mouth and made him angry at every waking moment. The anger began to erode the trust he had slowly built with LeFou. They snapped at each other. Intimacy between them ground to a halt. Gaston took to drinking too heavily in the evenings and passing out in bed long after LeFou had already fallen asleep.

They still shared the same bed, the same meals, the same chores, the same strangely silent market days. Gaston used these small semblances of sameness to reassure himself.

Nevertheless, when the day of the ball rolled around and LeFou dressed in his suit and perfumed his hair and tied new purple ribbons in both his hair and around his neck, Gaston thought he would be sick. It was hard to deny that LeFou must be going with Stanley, just as he said he would.

Worse-- far worse-- was how amazing LeFou looked in his suit. It had clearly been tailored for him and must have come from the interval Gaston did not remember, after his supposed death. It must have been the same one LeFou had worn the night he and Stanley-- the night of the last ball. Gaston realized with chagrin that there was only one place LeFou could have gotten the money for such a fine suit, and wondered what of his own items LeFou had sold for a suit to impress Stanley. Unable to abide the beautiful man primping for someone else, Gaston went outside. He felt _made_ of nervous energy, and needed to _do_ something. He went into the side yard and began to split wood. The aching muscles of his arms calmed him some.

Finally, as evening approached, a wagon appeared at the end of the lane. It was Stanley, a sight in a stark white suit with a blue vest and blue piping, accented with blue ribbons and lace. Gaston met his eyes, and Stanley lowered his gaze immediately. Something like an animal rose in Gaston. Stanley’s inability to meet his eyes bespoke guilt, shame, submission. Still, he did not approach Stanley. He hefted the ax again and brought it down on the log in front of him. When he had finally split the log, Stanley was inside LeFou’s house. Which was also Gaston’s house now. Gaston, overcome with the desire to kill something, hurled his ax at the broad side of the shed. It stuck up to the eye in the old wood. Now he was out of projectiles and out of luck. He thought he had carefully pieced together this thing with LeFou. Could it really all fall apart because of a stupid dance?

When LeFou and Stanley emerged together, Gaston glowered at them. LeFou didn’t so much as glance Gaston’s direction. Stanley, though, told LeFou to go on ahead to the cart. He stepped over the small hedge to meet Gaston in the side yard.

Gaston continued glaring, afraid to move a single muscle lest his anger get the better of him. Stanley stopped a good ten feet away, then cleared his throat. “I want to say this because you’ve been my friend, Gaston. But you should think carefully about whether your pride is worth losing LeFou.” He seemed to hesitate, then shook his head and followed LeFou to the cart.

Gaston felt sick. He retrieved his ax and tried to chop another log, but his anger had burned down and he felt tired. All that was left now was an overwhelming sense of loneliness as he went to eat dinner by himself.

After a meager dinner of bread and raw eggs, he opened a bottle of cognac. He didn’t make a fire because there seemed little point without anyone with which to share it. He watched the sunlight fade from the sky. The cognac wasn’t helping. Nothing was helping. LeFou had looked so goddamn good in that suit. Gaston just wanted to touch him, to smell his scented hair, to feel his smooth freshly-shaven chin. My God, he was getting hard.

He stood, having finally come to a decision. Fuck it. To hell with everyone. He stoppered the cognac and lit a lamp before rustling through his trunk for his pristine military uniform. Stanley had looked marvelous in white, but no one outshone Gaston in full uniform.

*****

Gaston slowed Magnifique as he approached the castle. The place roused something terrible in him, and something he could not easily identify. This was the place where he had been killed (or at least almost so), the place where he had nearly been sentenced the death or exile, the very same place he had nearly killed LeFou in cold blood. Seeing the castle was like confronting all the worst aspects of himself, and its shadow made him feel shame, stark and unadorned. Here, he could not escape his misdeeds or pretend they did not exist.

He approached the main entrance and even from far below he could make out the figure of Cogsworth blocking the door. If he went in this way, he would have to go through Cogsworth. The old manservant would likely give him a hard time, make him turn out his pockets, and humiliate him by any means possible before admitting him-- if Gaston could even gain admittance that way.

His eye was drawn to the light and music spilling out from an open balustrade on the side of the castle. He rode to that side and saw that this was clearly where the ball was taking place. Figures mingled in pairs on the balcony. One figure in particular caught Gaston’s attention. He knew it as well as his own. LeFou was leaning with his back against the railing, watching the music and lights spill through the doors. He was alone.

Gaston dismounted and tied Magnifique to a statue. He surveyed the columns that supported the balustrade. They were textured and he could easily climb them. Surely this was better than facing down Cogsworth. He encircled one column with his arms, squeezing with his knees, and began to ascend directly beneath LeFou’s position.

After he got to the top, he threw his hands over the precipice and pulled himself up. There was a ledge he could easily stand on. He was quiet, as a good hunter always is, and he happily found himself face to face with the back of LeFou’s head.

LeFou remained completely unaware that he was there. He could smell the lilac scent of LeFou’s hair pomade, reminding him too much of spring days and carefree adventures. He could see the freshly-shaven skin below LeFou’s sideburns, and he felt a visceral ache to touch it, to put his lips on that skin and feel its smoothness. And here, right here, was the back of LeFou’s neck. It didn’t smell like lilacs; it smelled like sweat. It smelled like LeFou after sex. Gaston could not contain himself. He leaned forward and planted a kiss in the space between LeFou’s collar and hairline.

LeFou gasped, but did not turn or object. LeFou _had_ to realize it was Gaston. Surely if just anyone came up behind LeFou and began kissing him, he would react, right? Gaston bit at the soft skin at the back of LeFou’s neck, eliciting another gasp. He then nuzzled his nose into LeFou’s hair, which was tied back in its bow.

“What are you doing here?” LeFou hissed.

“How did you know it was me?” Gaston whispered.

LeFou turned around. “Did you _climb_?”

“That old clock is guarding the door.”

“You were invited. I’m sure he would have let you in.”

Gaston shrugged. “The only person I wanted to see was on the balcony.”

“Why are you here, Gaston?” There was impatience and frustration in LeFou’s voice. But he had let Gaston kiss his neck. That had to mean something.

Gaston vaulted himself over the edge of the balcony until he was sitting on top of it. “I came to waltz,” he said. “What else?”

“You hate waltzes.”

Gaston tilted his head and hummed. “That is not entirely true. I _despise_ waltzes. But I was reminded that I am not the only person who exists. And you, mon ami, like waltzes. So rather than leave you to the whims of less handsome partners, I thought it only fair that I grace you with my presence.”

“Ah, I understand now. You had to climb to the balcony because your head wouldn’t fit through the door.”

Gaston smiled proudly, accepting the insult as a sign that LeFou was no longer mad at him. He hopped down from the railing. “Lucky for us, the doors between this balcony and the ballroom are expansive. Are you going to waltz with me, or are you going to make me beg?”

LeFou’s eyes narrowed. “I could watch you beg.”

Gaston pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows a couple times at LeFou’s suggestiveness, earning a warm laugh in return from LeFou.

The chamber orchestra began to warm up for the next dance, and Gaston put up his right hand-- a sign that he was willing to let LeFou lead on the dance floor. Inwardly, Gaston felt pretty smug. He had managed to transform a major bungle into a romantic gesture and it had only taken a little climbing and a nice suit.

*****

LeFou felt all eyes on himself and Gaston as they entered from the balcony hand-in-hand. They were not gazes of appreciation or admiration. People were surprised, even outraged, to see Gaston here. LeFou heard some exclamations of affront. Whispers ran through the crowd like ripples in a pond. But then the orchestra began to play in earnest, and most people were content to pretend Gaston and LeFou were not dancing next to them. Gaston was a lackluster waltzer, having never had an affinity for slow repetition. LeFou enjoyed the beauty of the dance. He opted not to spin Gaston when the men spun their ladies, sure Gaston would think it a step too far. He also skipped the dip, afraid he would drop Gaston in front of all these people.

The dance ended, and the crowd clapped politely for the orchestra. Madam Garderobe took the stage for her concerto. This was a sign for everyone to rest from dancing. Many gazes were turned on Gaston and LeFou, so LeFou pulled Gaston from the ballroom into the anteroom. Few people were milling about here, but they could still hear the music.

“Who was it?” LeFou asked seriously.

“Who?”

“Who reminded you that you are not the only person in the world?” LeFou said.

“Stanley. Who else? No one else talks to me.”

LeFou frowned at this, only now realizing how true that was. No one spoke to Gaston, and no one had in weeks, aside from himself and Stanley, and the people in the castle. Maybe he had not been quite fair, expecting Gaston to come to such a social occasion in a town where he was afforded pariah status. But Gaston’s ego seemed to be bearing up well enough.

Just as LeFou was about to say as much, Gaston’s hazel eyes grew steely, focusing on something behind LeFou. Gaston stood straight and tall-- a sure sign of impending conflict. LeFou turned and was unsurprised to see Maurice storming towards them.

Ever the peacemaker, LeFou stayed between them, putting out his hands. “Maurice!” he said with exaggerated pleasantness. “We’re so glad to see you. How have you enjoyed living in the castle?”

But Maurice ignored LeFou completely, pointing a finger at Gaston. “How dare you show your face here, you--”

“Now now,” LeFou said, waving his hands. “Let’s not spoil such a lovely evening. I am trying to hear Madam Garderobe. Isn’t her voice divine?”

“I was invited,” Gaston growled.

“Well you were supposed to have the decency to _decline_.”

LeFou was about to try and defuse the situation again, but Gaston was pushing past him, a sight in his red dress uniform. Gaston stood chest to chest with the shorter Maurice. “LeFou wanted to be here, and as _intelligent_ as you are,” Gaston made the word seem like an insult, “You need to understand that we come as a set. Next time you don’t want me to come, tell your daughter not to invite LeFou either.”

“LeFou was a great friend to us when you were dead. It’s a pity that had to change. I suppose he is back under your spell?”

LeFou was expecting a punch to be thrown at any moment. Instead, Gaston smirked and rocked back on his heels. “I suppose he is.”

Madam Garderobe finished her aria, and a deadly silence fell over the three of them as Maurice stared down Gaston. “He could have been a good man outside of your influence. I suppose that hope is gone now.”

LeFou wanted to scream. Why did Maurice always have to incite Gaston? By insulting LeFou, Maurice had guaranteed that Gaston would feel honor-bound to retaliate. Gaston’s face contorted in rage. LeFou grabbed his arm, squeezing it in warning.

Gaston’s fury slowly abated, and no one was more surprised than LeFou. Gaston shook his head. “You are trying to get me thrown out. Old man, I don’t fall into traps, I _set_ them. I know I have done unforgivable things to you, so I will not waste our time by begging you for forgiveness. But LeFou is the best man I know. If you _ever_ insult LeFou to try and get to me, you will regret it. Be a man, Maurice. Come after me, if it’s me you aim to hurt.”

Maurice was left speechless at this, having lost a bit of moral high ground to Gaston.

Just then, Stanley came running out of the ballroom. “I noticed-- Oh. Is everything alright?” He addressed this question to LeFou, but it was Maurice who answered.

“Yes. I was just bidding adieu to our unexpected but no less unwelcome guests.” Then Maurice walked away.

“Well,” LeFou sighed. “That could have gone worse. Though not by much. Did you have to threaten him?”

“At least I didn’t hit him. I dearly wanted to.”

Stanley looked after Maurice, but then turned to Gaston. “I’m glad to see you were able to come after all.”

Gaston’s troubled expression cleared and he slung an arm around Stanley. “You will make someone a very good husband someday, Stanley. Thank you for keeping my Fabien company while I climbed out of my own derriere.”

“Fabien?” Stanley asked, wide-eyed. He turned to LeFou. “That is your name?”

LeFou nodded. “You didn’t think my parents truly named me LeFou?”

“I never thought much about it. I mean, after all, Gaston here-- Imagine your parents naming you Gaston Gaston.”

Gaston threw his head back and laughed hardily. LeFou chuckled.

“Gaston is not his Christian name,” LeFou said.

“Then what is it?” Stanley asked.

Gaston sobered up immediately. “It’s not important,” he said. “The only people who ever used it are dead.”

LeFou shook his head, indicating to Stanley to let it drop. LeFou cleared his throat. “I think we should probably leave. Before Maurice, uh, thinks of a rejoinder.”

“Oh,” Stanley said. “One moment. I would like to bid farewell to Tom and Dick.”

“No, stay,” Gaston insisted. “Magnifique can handle two riders as easily as one.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” LeFou said, hugging Stanley to his side. “You’re a good friend. Enjoy yourself. Mingle.”

Stanley smiled a little sadly, and LeFou’s heart cracked a tiny bit to see it. Stanley was so lonely, and LeFou’s own happiness made him keenly aware of the loneliness of others. He would have matched Stanley up with someone had he known of anyone that might be interested.

He and Gaston left the castle through the front door, quite startling Cogsworth, who knew for certain Gaston had never entered. Gaston helped LeFou onto the ridiculously tall Magnifique, and then swung up behind him, wrapping his arms around LeFou to hold the reins. The closeness was intoxicating, and LeFou leaned back into Gaston, enjoying the sensation of Gaston’s arms wrapped halfway around him. The night air kept so much of its late summer heat that sweat pooled under LeFou’s nose and along the sides of his neck. Night animals and insects made their curious sounds, which echoed out of the wood.

“I’m sorry,” Gaston said softly, almost a windy sigh into the night.

“What for?”

“Many things. But at this moment, ruining so many of your friendships. It seems you and Maurice had a detente for a while when I was out of the picture, and my existence has spoiled it.”

LeFou puffed out some air. “He’s hurt. He has a right to be. You don’t show a lot of contrition where he’s concerned. You could try a heartfelt apology.”

“Mmm,” Gaston hummed. “I don’t know how to do that.”

“I know that’s not true. You keep giving them to me.”

“The difference is, I truly do feel sorry for the things I did to you.”

“But not the things you did to Maurice?” LeFou was surprised to hear this.

“If you want the truth, Fabien, it’s hard to regret any of the horrible and uncanny things that led me to where I am now, including that. If this beast had never come into our lives, would I have married Belle? Would I still be listlessly pining for any woman who could make me feel the same way you do? I would have friends and hangers-on and still go to sleep alone and unfulfilled. If I’d had to kill Maurice to get here, I have trouble imagining that I’d regret it.”

“That… wouldn’t be easy for him to hear. You think your happiness is more important than his life?”

“Of course it is,” Gaston said, “To me, anyway. This happiness is _mine_ and his life is nothing to me.”

LeFou sighed. Gaston still had much to learn about empathy. But tonight had been a tiny start, LeFou supposed. Gaston’s empathy didn’t seem to extend beyond LeFou himself, though.

Gaston continued. “He is no different. We wishes I were dead so my continued existence wouldn’t stain his happiness.”

LeFou grunted but disagreed, shaking his head. “I think he’s just afraid you may hurt him or those he loves. He thinks you incapable of change or growth.”

“He _chooses_ to think that of me,” Gaston said. “They all do.”

LeFou could feel the tension mounting in Gaston’s muscles, so he decided this conversation was better dropped. There was something in its core that greatly bothered Gaston, no question. He was used to being implicitly trusted and hadn’t had to earn it before. But this was how trust worked-- once broken, it had to be repaired.

Back at home, Gaston stabled Magnifique, while LeFou went inside and stripped off his sweaty clothes. He pulled on his lightest banyan-- a creamy cotton with a few flowers embroidered on the neckline. He poured glasses of cognac for himself and Gaston and lit a couple lamps.

Gaston came in and stopped cold, eying LeFou in his banyan. “I missed the show? Damn that horse.” He was smiling.

“If by show, you mean my struggle out of undersized stockings, then yes.”

Gaston grabbed the extra cognac and took a deep sip before sinking into his favorite chair. LeFou rose and came around the back. He eased Gaston out of his coat, and opened the buttons of his shirt. LeFou slipped his hands inside Gaston’s shirt to massage the kinks out of his toned shoulder muscles. Gaston hummed and leaned back into the caress. “How do you know just where to touch me?” he asked.

“Long practice,” LeFou said. But he immediately knew he had said something wrong. Gaston stiffened like a drawn bow at LeFou’s words. Worried Gaston may have misinterpreted his words, LeFou was quick to add, “Long practice on you, mon ami. I’ve been working the knots out of these shoulders for more than a decade. I don’t think I was very skilled when I started as your assistant in the war.”

Gaston tilted his head to look at LeFou over his shoulder, frowning. “I knew what you meant. What did you think I thought you meant?”

LeFou shook his head. “Only that maybe not all my practice was on you. You seemed bothered.”

Gaston frowned and glared at a flickering lamp for a moment before saying. “I am bothered, Fabien. I am bothered that you have been right here next to me for… how long have we known each other now?”

“Sixteen years.” LeFou did not have to count to know the answer. He wore it on his heart, more quick to his lips than his own age.

“Sixteen years,” Gaston sighed. “Maybe if I had kind parents like yours, or we lived somewhere out of the eye of the church--” He rubbed his head and finished, “It just sometimes occurs to me that I’ve squandered what might have been the happiest sixteen years of my life.”

LeFou was ever the optimist. His hands moved to Gaston’s hair, undoing the bow and running his hands through its silky length until he was able to rub Gaston’s scalp. “We’ll just have to make the next sixteen count,” he said. He did not want to dwell on the past when there was so much good in the here and now.

Gaston nodded. “You’re right, Fabien. You always are. I’m sorry I was so stubborn about that ridiculous ball.”

“You’re forgiven,” LeFou said, moving his hands to Gaston’s ears. Gaston always tilted his head to afford LeFou access like a dog. LeFou found it charming.

“You need to stop being so forgiving,” Gaston grumbled. “If you held a grudge longer, I might be more careful.”

“I could try to hold a grudge if you like.” LeFou reinforced this by tugging hard on one of Gaston’s earlobes until Gaston winced in pain. Then Gaston laughed, a deep rumbling in his chest. He stopped LeFou’s hands with his own, and stood to face him, all grins.

“How dare you hurt Gaston? You’ll pay.”

“Oh no,” LeFou said, covering his mouth in mock exaggeration. “I better run!” Giggling, he ran on his tip-toes to the bedroom. Gaston came on his heels, pinching at LeFou’s backside through his banyan.

LeFou flopped carelessly on the wool-ticked bed and made a shocked face. “Someone save me. Please don’t let Gaston ravage me. Again and again. All night long.” He laughed hard, unable to contain himself.

Gaston smiled down at LeFou and began to slip out of the rest of his clothes. LeFou followed suit and took off his banyan. He scooted forward to let Gaston settle behind him. This was what they did. Gaston was many things, but he had never been accused of excess creativity. In bed, they did the same thing night after night. LeFou was not terribly concerned by this, though he did hope that at some point he could get up the courage to show Gaston some other… techniques.

But tonight, Gaston shook his head. “No,” he said. “Lie down facing me. I need to see you.” One they were stretched out, naked and face-to-face, Gaston tenderly stroked LeFou’s hair, and LeFou waited with baited breath for where this new position would take them. Gaston began to kiss him, and he responded in kind, pressing his lips against Gaston’s, relishing the smooth skin and sweet scent of a fresh shave.

Gaston’s hand moved down between them and took hold of LeFou’s rapidly-hardening manhood. After a few sure strokes, he used his hand to gently open LeFou’s thighs and guide his own cock between them. LeFou shuddered in pleasure, clenching his thighs around Gaston’s hardness. Gaston spit into his hand and added that to his cock, and LeFou’s eyes lit. “That… the thing Stanley gave you. Do you still have it?”

Gaston grunted.

“Where?”

Gaston’s eyes flickered to the small desk in the corner and LeFou saw the tiny tin of lubricant sitting on it. He pressed his finger over Gaston’s lips and said, “One moment.” He jumped from the bed and ran across the room. He turned back, opened the tin, and liberally coated Gaston with the sweet-scented salve. Gaston groaned in pleasure. LeFou then slid back into his position, taking Gaston’s cock between his strong thighs once again. Now the noises Gaston made were ridiculous, whimpering and keening. LeFou wanted to laugh, but in Gaston’s ecstasy, LeFou’s member had once again been abandoned. He took it in his own hand, until Gaston noticed and slapped LeFou’s hand away. Gaston then grabbed the container and used the salve on LeFou before gripping LeFou’s manhood in his own large hand. LeFou quickly found himself rocking towards release. Gaston stilled a moment, eyes wide, watching him. LeFou came with a groan of ecstasy. Gaston was still looking directly into his eyes.

“I had no idea… I’ve never seen you finish before,” Gaston whispered. “Never _watched_. You are so beautiful.” He lay still in awe.

“Mon amour,” LeFou whispered, “It’s my turn to see you now. Come on,” he rocked his thighs, clenching his legs violently. “Come between my legs, Gaston.”

And Gaston did, with a yell that pierced the silence of the night, his head thrown back. LeFou felt Gaston spill. LeFou’s own leg muscles were shaking, so it took him a moment to realize Gaston was shaking as well.

“Fabien,” Gaston gasped. “I didn’t know it could be like this. I didn’t realize--”

LeFou put his finger over Gaston’s lips to silence him again. “I love you, mon ours,” he whispered.

“I love you more, mon nonours. Mon Fabien.” Gaston peppered LeFou with feather-light kisses, kissing his neck, his arms, his belly, behind his knees, his bum, the bottoms of his feet. LeFou, entirely too ticklish, giggled and wailed. But he never asked Gaston to stop. He never wanted him to. LeFou didn’t think he’d ever felt more truly loved in his life.

Gaston eventually rose and grabbed a cloth, which he wet in the wash basin. He wiped LeFou’s seed from his own belly, then nudged LeFou’s legs apart. LeFou lazed happy while Gaston stroked the cool cloth over his sweaty skin, cleaning him. Gaston then threw the cloth in their dirty clothes pile.

LeFou sighed and tucked his hands behind his head on the pillow. He never slept naked, but the night was so hot, and Gaston was a furnace. Together, he and Gaston kicked off the blankets and lay next to each other, sticking with sweat where their skin met. In such a state of happiness, LeFou could not bring himself to mourn the hypothetical sixteen years of the past. He simply hoped the years of the future would not fly too fast to be thoroughly enjoyed.


	4. October

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A single day in early October finds Gaston and LeFou hunting once again, remaking all the old rituals in new forms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, I was on vacation last week. This ship continues to give me life and this story still feels like fun and not work.

October brought the first day hunts, wherein gaston and LeFou ranged five or ten miles from home in search of suitable game. Gaston had his heart set on a buck, but he was not averse to shooting a boar or even waterfowl. LeFou knew that Gaston always secretly hoped to come upon a bear, but in all their years of hunting together, it had only happened once. LeFou could not pretend to be disappointed.

LeFou had trouble keeping his mine on hunting, though. He was more preoccupied with what would happen after the hunt. Gaston had a post-hunting ritual that LeFou knew well, and he was unsure what to expect. In the before-times, Gaston would kill his quarry, field dress it, lay it atop Magnifique, and make haste to town. Gaston would ride straight to the butcher, where he helped skin the animal before taking his pay. Then he would head to the tannery to haggle over the hide. If any trophies were left, such as a head or antlers, a farmer named Romuald knew some of the art of the taxidermist and could prepare these for display. Gaston only kept particularly notable or unique specimen these days, though, so most of the excess stayed with the butcher. After all of this, and still smelling of a day in the saddle and dead animal flesh, Gaston would visit the rooms above the Tavern with any wench that could stand the stink. And most could. Gaston did not pay these ladies. They considered it free advertising-- ‘I’m good enough to be bedded by Gaston, so certainly I am good enough for you lads.’

LeFou would take this time to stable and brush the horses and change into fresh clothes. By the time LeFou was back at the Tavern, Gaston was sexed and bathed and eager to ‘sup and drink and dance and sing with LeFou until most others had left. Then they would stumble into the night air, bid each other adieu, and sleep it all off the next day.  
But what would this time be like? Throughout the hunt, LeFou was nervous, butterflies hammering around his stomach. He was reasonably sure that Gaston was not about to bed a barmaid. Gaston also had not visited the Tavern since the night they’d come in to find Maurice accusing Gaston of attempted murder. The man’s portrait still adorned the wall, and his coat of arms hung over the bar-- a remnant from Gaston’s father, who had been partial owner of the Tavern once.

LeFou kept his concerns to himself throughout the hunt, willing to follow Gaston’s lead. Everything seemed as it had been a hundred times before. There were no winks, no affectionate moments, no tenderness. Just Gaston-- his bow taught in case of a buck, his blunderbus loaded in case of a bear, his brow creased with concentration as he dismounted to examine leaves or scat. LeFou saw it was a boar they were tracking and his palms began to sweat. Boars were larger and more ferocious than many understood. Gaston traded his bow for his gun. LeFou, as quiet as he knew how to be, retrieved the spear Gaston packed for this purpose. He hoped to never have to use it, and he never had, but Gaston had taught him boar hunting a full decade ago and LeFou remembered his lesson, understanding that the thin spear could be the line between life and death for both himself and Gaston.

The boar turned out to be a small one, though. Gaston being Gaston, he shot it in the rump so that it would not fall from the gun alone, even though this devalued the hide. He then drew his knife and engaged in a death-defying battle with the enraged and wounded boar, until he was able to slice its neck. Slicked with blood, he grinned maniacally as he field-dressed the pig and slung it over Magnifique.

“Well?” Gaston said, expecting praise.

“Very courageous,” LeFou supplied, “Though I confess I’ve seen you kill bigger and meaner boars.”

Gaston wiped his knife on the grass and nodded, frowning. “It’s true, LeFou. I wish we had found a better specimen. But it’s afternoon already and I don’t think we’ll find much else today.”

LeFou nodded, but he noticed that Gaston had called him ‘LeFou’ for the first time in months. Gaston had not noticed. Their day had been such an exact replica of the times before they were together that it was almost unnerving. LeFou found himself doubtful about whether Gaston would bounce a barmaid or not after all.

Then he noticed the look Gaston was giving him. It was a naked leer of lust. Gaston stripped off his bloody coat, then his blood-stained shirt. His hands still held streaks of red. He rubbed at them with his balled-up shirt. “Well?” he said, opening his arms again as if asking for more praise.

“I already said--”

“Not the boar, you fool. You can stand a little blood, can’t you?”

LeFou didn’t understand, simply gaping at Gaston’s half-naked form in the autumnal afternoon sunlight.

Then Gaston untied his breeches, and there was no mistaking his meaning. His erection was as hard as bone. LeFou felt himself shiver in anticipation. Apparently there would not be barmaids in the evening-- there would be himself in the afternoon.

Almost in a trance, LeFou slipped off his horse, feeling his own budding erection scrape the saddle. Before he even had his bearings, Gaston was on him, peeling of his clothes, locking lips. This was going to be rough. LeFou could have guessed it would be. He had seen the bruises the wenches wore, the bite marks. He had envied them. Now these would be his.

Gaston was speaking so low LeFou could barely hear him. “Please, Fabien,” he was whispering. “I need this. I need you. I need to put my cock between your thighs. _Now_.” The last was nearly a growl, and LeFou found himself scampering out of his own breeches as quickly as he could. He tripped himself up on one leg and fell hard onto the cold grass, and like a wolf Gaston was already on him, cock to cock. There was no lard, no time for lard, as Gaston nudged LeFou’s legs apart and then brought them back together, closing LeFou’s thighs on his cock. Gaston grunted, pressing LeFou’s legs closed as he rutted against LeFou’s thighs. “I want to fuck you so badly. I wish you had a cunt so I could be inside you,” he hissed, and then he pressed LeFou back harder onto the grass. LeFou, wide-eyed, felt overwhelmed. He had not seen this side of Gaston in the bedroom, though he had always known it existed.

Gaston’s lips were on LeFou’s collar bone, sucking hard enough to bruise, while he bucked between LeFou’s thighs. LeFou could hardly breathe with the weight of Gaston on top of him. Suddenly Gaston stiffened and came, and when he did, he bit. LeFou cried out in pain, sure Gaston had taken flesh from his collar bone and surprised to look down and see only red skin.

Gaston was looking down at him as if seeing him for the first time. Gaston’s eyes were wide, and his breath heaved in and out. Shock colored his features. He looked around, seeing the grass as if for the first time. “Mon Fabien,” he whispered, before lowering his head until his forehead rested on LeFou’s heaving chest. “My angel. How will you forgive me? I’m sorry, I am an animal.”

“Shhhh,” LeFou stroked Gaston’s mussed hair. “There’s nothing to forgive. You are a beauty, coming undone.”

“You are the beauty,” Gaston gulped. “You let me take from you, and I gave you no pleasure.”

“You gave my heart pleasure. And my body’s still ready,” LeFou said with a mischievous grin. And it was, at that. Watching Gaston lose all control, and feel safe enough with him to lose control even after all that had happened-- it had been lovely. His cock was half-soft now, but eager to jump right back into the melee.

Gaston was looking directly at LeFou’s manhood as though contemplating what to do with it. He stroked it a few times with his hand. “This is beautiful,” Gaston sighed. “Have I told you before that you are beautiful?” He pulled on LeFou’s foreskin and stroked it gently.

LeFou’s head dropped back onto the grass and he huffed. “It looks enough like yours…”

Gaston laughed. “Yes, I know, but that’s not what I mean. I mean--” He was lost for words. “I mean, I just want to--” His hand stilled, and he lay down next to LeFou, on his side facing him. “Will you show me how?”

LeFou turned to face Gaston, shivering despite the sun. The grass was cold and the breeze turned his sweat to ice. “How to what?” he asked.

“How to do… what you do... “

LeFou shook his head. “What do I do?”

“With your thighs,” Gaston finished.

LeFou wanted to laugh. He wasn’t _doing_ anything. He thought Gaston didn’t emulate LeFou because of some deep-seated prejudice about it being too much like a catamite or a woman, but it turned out Gaston suspected LeFou has some special skill. He dared not laugh, though, remembering that once, a woman had laughed at Gaston. Instead, LeFou smiled fondly. “Mon ours, there is no trick. You simply open your legs, and then close them.”

Gaston looked uncertain, so LeFou used his hand to part Gaston’s thighs, and then slipped his manhood between those fire-hot columns of muscle. Gaston clenched his thighs together and LeFou cried out in pain. “Less, less,” he gasped. “How do you feel?” he asked Gaston.

Gaston said nothing, but kissed LeFou gently on his lips. LeFou ran his hands over Gaston’s muscular body. He was still blood-stained. LeFou would never have thought that was a turn on, but he was soon hard again and moving against Gaston’s thighs. Slicked as they both were with Gaston’s ejaculate and both of their sweat, LeFou was able to slip back and forth between those hair-covered legs even though Gaston kept them clenched tightly together. It felt so incredibly tight, as tight as a man’s channel, and soon LeFou was gasping, coming between Gaston’s legs. He saw fireworks behind his eyes and dropped back onto the cold grass. “My God,” he whispered.

“It’s wonderful, isn’t it?” Gaston asked, but then amended, “ _You’re_ wonderful, mon Fabien, my angel of love and mercy. Will you ever cease showing me the beauties of this world? You are all mine, and no one else can have you.”

LeFou smiled, dazed with joy. “I have always been all yours,” he said softly.

“Your patience is boundless.”

“Your talents for flattery are improving.”

Gaston grinned at this. “I learned from a master.”

A breeze blew and LeFou shivered violently. “Then take a note from your master-- I’m freezing out here. Let’s go home and have a fire.”

Gaston sat up, using his bloodied shirt to wipe both of them off. “I have a better idea,” he declared. “Let’s warm ourselves at the Tavern tonight. It’s tradition, you know.”

LeFou watched Gaston’s expression for a moment, but it was carefully guarded. “Are you sure?”

Gaston’s smile blazed at him, all false confidence. “No,” he answered truthfully. “But we cannot hide forever. I will have to visit the butcher and tanner, and they will have to speak to me. I imagine I may need some drink after that, and I will certainly need your company.” He pulled up his breeches and slung his jacket on over his bare chest, leaving the shirt in the grass.

LeFou was also dressing himself and wrapping a thick cloak around himself. Gaston boosted LeFou up to the saddle before mounting Magnifique. LeFou, having only just experienced the strength of Gaston’s thighs, understood now why Gaston was such a good horseman.

“Besides,” Gaston said, “If we go home, I will just brood and dissect every word they say to me. If I get rowdy and drunk…”

LeFou, buttoned his shirt, but noticed that if he left the top button undone, the red bike mark stood out starkly on his white skin. He shivered with pride at the mark, imagining that his neck was also dotted with bruises from Gaston’s suckling. He imagined showing them off at the Tavern, where the wenches Gaston used to bed tried to find men, and a thrill went up his spine. “Yes,” LeFou said, “As you said, it’s tradition. And we cannot hide forever.” LeFou, truth be told, was not interested in hiding anything ever again.

*****

Gaston and LeFou visited the butcher, Jérôme, first. LeFou waited outside with the horses while Jérôme and Gaston presumably haggled over prices. Gaston emerged sometime later with the hide. “How did it go?” LeFou asked.

Gaston was frowning, but he said, “Fine.”

“Business as usual?” LeFou suggested. Most of the people around Villeneuve were good at forgetting things they didn’t want to remember. He thought of Adam and the castle, and wondered how hard it had really been to enchant the town to forget their tyrant overlord. Certainly those missing family might have had more trouble forgetting, but the rest?

The tanner, Patrice, was much the same. Gaston came away with a good price from both buyers. It was not a huge boar but it was the first of the fall, and the butcher, charcuterie, tailor, jeweler, tanner, cobbler-- they were all needing the things the boar could give them. There was a reason that being a hunter was a good living, especially hunting dangerous large game that others often dared not hunt.

At home, Gaston wiped his face and chest while LeFou stabled the horses. They both put on clean shirts and coats and left home, walking the path to the Tavern. Before LeFou pushed open the door, he turned to Gaston in an unasked question. Gaston shook his head, lifted his chin, and frowned in that devilish way of his. He looked entirely himself, and LeFou’s heart skipped a beat. He knew already, just from the glint in Gaston’s eye, what the plan would be. The plan would be confidence. They would act as though nothing had changed.

When they entered the Tavern, conversation faltered. Nearby, Tom, Dick, and Stanley were playing darts, and Stanley was the first to speak, shaking LeFou’s hand. “Good to see you here, friend,” he said quietly. He turned and patted Gaston on the arm, a gesture Gaston ignored, before turning back to his darts. LeFou approached the bar and ordered two mugs, and Gaston sank down into his customary seat, which was thankfully empty. At this display of normalcy, the patrons returned to their conversations, though LeFou would truly have to be a fool to believe that himself and Gaston were not minded by every busybody under the roof.

He pulled a chair up to Gaston’s side and handed over a mug. Gaston took a deep sip. “Ah,” he said, “this tastes just as terrible as always.”

LeFou laughed nervously.

Gaston turned more fully to him. “What did you expect would happen, mon ami?” He pointed to the murals of himself. “As you see, nothing has changed.”

Paulette sat down right in Gaston’s line of sight, followed shortly by her sisters. They simpered in Gaston’s direction, but there was something mocking in the act. They were making fun of him for choosing LeFou over themselves. LeFou was sure of it.

Gaston didn’t notice, only raising an eyebrow at the bimbettes. “You see,” he said, “Nothing has changed.” He dropped his hand into LeFou’s. LeFou dutifully began to massage it, but then Gaston slapped him away. “I wasn’t asking for a massage,” he pouted. “I was trying to hold your hand.”

LeFou, taken aback by this brazenness, wrapped his short fingers around Gaston’s long and strong ones, reflecting that in fact some things had changed.

Just then, Tom, Dick, and Stanley came over.

“Who won?” Gaston asked.

LeFou saw Tom’s eyes flicker to their clasped hands and then away. He was looking anywhere but directly at them when he said, “Stanley.”

“There’s a good man,” Gaston said grinning. “Stanley has precise fingers and a soft grip, I imagine. That probably means you are gripping the darts too hard, Tom. Treat them with tenderness. Imagine they’re your wife’s pert nipples.”

Dick chortled. “Tom’s wife hasn’t had a single body part could be described as pert in years.”

Tom glared at Dick. “My espingole doesn’t require _tenderness_.”

“Ah yes,” LeFou said, nodding, “Tom and his guns. A match made in heaven.”

“Go easy on him, LeFou,” Gaston said grinning. “Tom’s espingole is a work of art. If I had one half as lovely, I’d neglect my wife as well.”

Dick, always a little slow on the uptake, said, “You don’t have a wife.”

Gaston sighed contentedly. “That, I definitely do not.” He winkled at LeFou, and there was nothing guarded or secretive about it. It was showy. LeFou blushed, looking down in embarrassment. Tom was suddenly noticing the ceiling. Dick was stammering something that sounded like it was trying to be an apology but failed at being anything more than incoherent sounds. Quiet, calm Stanley laughed easily at their friends’ awkwardness.

“LeFou,” Gaston declared rather loudly, “Perhaps our friends would like to hear about the boar!”

Tom’s attention immediately snapped back. “A boar?”

“You went hunting today?” Dick asked.

LeFou, knowing an entrance when he heard one, jumped up. “It was as big as my horse.”

“Not too hard,” Dick muttered.

“With tusks like an elephant.” LeFou gestured, his voice rising so others nearby could hear. “Gaston tracked it for hours. It was wily and kept slipping away. I was so afraid I trembled, thinking it wasn’t a boar at all, but a beast released from hell to haunt us for our sins. But Gaston never faltered. ‘LeFou,’ he said, ‘Villeneuve hasn’t seen a boar like this in years. I will be the one to kill it.’ At last we cornered it at a sheer cliff face.” LeFou pressed himself against a wall, pretending to be a cowering boar. “And Gaston…”

Gaston stood, all swagger. “I aimed my blunderbuss for its heart.”

Tom cheered. Most of the Tavern was listening by now.

“I shot, and hit it in the chest… but it didn’t fall! It was so large that even as close as I was--” He was a foot away from LeFou, pretending to aim a gun, “My shot couldn’t penetrate its hide. The hide was like steel.”

“It was going to charge him!” LeFou pantomimed terror. “Not knowing what to do, I grabbed the boar spear. But before I could do anything more, the boar and Gaston were locked in mortal combat.” He wailed fearfully.

Gaston’s bright eyes moved from face to face among the crowd now shamelessly encircling them. “I slipped between its massive tusks. It tried to throw me off, to stomp me, but I refused to be killed so easily. I slid under its enormous jaw with nothing but my knife. It took all the power I had to breach its skin with the knife.”

“His arm was buried up to the elbow,” LeFou supplied.

“And then,” Gaston made a slashing motion at LeFou’s throat, and LeFou slipped down the wall, “It was dead.”

Several nearby villagers applauded, but one shouted. “Oh yeah, where’s this monster boar now? You lost it somehow on your way home, I bet.”

They were not used to being questioned in the telling of stories, but enough of this story had been true that it did not matter. Gaston turned to the person who had shouted-- a farmer by the name of Noël. The Tavern was deadly quiet. LeFou jumped back to his feet. Gaston sneered, and it made him look like a monster himself. “Ask Jérôme. I imagine by morning some of it will have found its way to the market, and by Sunday night it’ll be in your shit.” Gaston punctuated this last by throwing his nearly-full beer at Noël, who dodged.

Dozens of frightened eyes waited while Gaston’s breath heaved. LeFou put hands on either side of Gaston’s face and turned Gaston, forcing the outraged monster before him to look him in the eye. The villagers were afraid of Gaston, and it would be a lie to say LeFou wasn’t also a little afraid. Still, he looked this monster in the eye, knowing this was _his_ monster, praying for the man to come back. “Mon ours,” LeFou whispered, “Let’s go home. The beer is shit anyway.”

Gaston’s eyes cleared slowly and he nodded. Without another word, he turned and left the Tavern. LeFou shrugged at Tom, Dick, and Stanley, and followed Gaston. And somewhere deep in his heart, he felt a cry of victory when Tom, Dick, and Stanley agreed the beer was shit and left the Tavern as well. It was something small, but when the world was against you, it helped to know you had friends at your back.

In the cool night air, Dick approached Gaston. “Don’t let Noël get to you. Everyone knows he’s friends with Christian.”

Gaston’s confusion was plain.

Stanley continued. “Christian is still sore he didn’t get to kill you.”

“Sore?” LeFou’s voice squeaked.

Tom shrugged. “It’s hard to know what he’s thinking since he doesn’t say much, but what he does say is usually about you.”

“About him how?” LeFou asked, feeling distinctly protective all of a sudden.

When Tom started kicking the dirt and Dick pretended to be counting his loose change, Stanley answered. “Christian is unhappy about men being together. He was set on killing Gaston before, but now, he acts as though it was the reason God put him on Earth.”

Gaston sighed, all bravado leaving him. “Christian used to be a friend of mine,” he said sadly.

“Well,” said Dick, “I wouldn’t say he’s no friend of yours now.”

“How many people does he have with him? Noël and who else?”

“No,” Stanley said, “It’s nothing organized. He just talks shit to his friends.”

“Yeah,” Tom said, “I don’t think you have to worry about him.”

“He hasn’t said anything to me,” Stanley said. The ‘yet’ hung in the air, heavily implied.

Gaston nodded. “Thank you, friends.”

“Nah,” Dick said. “It’s nothing, You got us, Gaston.” He banged Gaston’s shoulder. LeFou thought it was all a bit strange, considering neither Tom nor Dick had spoken to Gaston in nearly half a year. But Gaston seemed only too eager to count these men as his friends again, and LeFou thought they needed friends now more than ever. Besides, they knew about Stanley and didn’t seem to mind. That was important.

“Goodnight,” Tom said to Gaston. Gaston replied in kind and they began to part before Dick turned around and said, “LeFou, how big was it really?”

LeFou grinned. “On the small side. The rest of it’s true, though,” LeFou said.

“Oui,” Stanley said, “Except I bet the part where Gaston aimed for the heart.”

LeFou laughed again. These men knew Gaston too well. And maybe that was why they could be real friends.

“Goodnight, LeFou,” Dick called, and the three moved off in the directions of their respective homes. LeFou turned to catch up with Gaston, and they too went home. LeFou found himself eager for a quiet fire and a deep sleep.

In fact, he and Gaston were both too exhausted to make a fire. They dressed for bed in eerie silence. LeFou couldn’t help but think about how unprecedented the confrontation at the Tavern was, and how he might expect more like it in the future. If Gaston wanted it to stop, he’d have to reign his temper in. It didn’t do to throw things at people who spoke out against you. Noël had dodged the mug of ale ably, but if he hadn’t, it was possible Christian would be only too eager to arrest Gaston for assault. Prince Adam would not argue against such a charge when it was witnessed by two dozen villagers. LeFou judged from Gaston’s brooding mood that tonight was not the time to mention it, though. They slipped under blankets and furs together, and LeFou tucked himself closely against Gaston’s bare chest. “I love you,” LeFou whispered. Gaston was too lost in thought to hear or reply, and soon LeFou was fast asleep.

*****

Lightning shot down from the sky in a non-stop ribbon of white. It was night, and the air shook with thunder. But thunder was not the only sound. A more chilling sound arose from the crowd around Gaston as they jeered. He saw them, face by face. He knew them all. He had been raised side-by-side with them. Even people long-gone were there-- Gaston’s two younger brothers screamed with delight. His father was encouraging the crowd. Noël the goddamn farmer was there. Prince Adam danced with Belle while lookers-on wolf-whistled. And right in front of him, Stanley and LeFou were locked in an amorous kiss of such intensity that a bolt of lightening landed nearby them and neither noticed. But there was another sound, even louder than the din of the cheering crowd. There was the roar of flames.

And the lightning was not the only light. Gaston could scarcely see the villagers through the blazing light that surrounded him as flames licked his skin. He saw now that he was naked, hogtied, suspended from a spit. And there was Prince Adam on one end and Princess Belle on the other, and they began to turn the spit. There was Lumiere sharpening a knife, and LeFou passing out napkins. And then he could see nothing else, as the flames penetrated his skin, and everything was pain, pain, pain.

Gaston awoke, his chest heaving. He sat up and slipped out of the covers as quietly as possible. He was drenched in sweat and could not breath. He stumbled to the kitchen to gulp down water, but it did not help. He flung open the back door and drank in the cold night air. Closing the door behind him, Gaston lay down in the brown grass. The air against his bare sweat-soaking skin made him shiver, and he welcomed the sensation. Cold, blessed cold, it was nothing like flame. He would like to be cold forever. Overhead, the sky was clear and stars speckled the heavens in their familiar shapes. Gaston knew all about the sky. His father had taught him as a child. His father had taught him most of what he knew-- how to hunt, how to track, how to survive, how to kill animals, and the final lesson-- how to kill a man you loved. He thought of LeFou’s gleaming eyes as he passed out napkins in the dream. He thought of LeFou’s fear when Gaston had wrapped a hand around his beloved’s throat and tried to ring the life from his body. He did not want to dwell too long on any of it, shaking his head to clear the thoughts. There was nothing he could do about the past, and in the case of his father, nothing he would do differently.

Gaston jumped when he heard the back door creak open. He sat up to see LeFou approaching with caution. Gaston laughed as he considered the difference in their constitutions. Gaston was nearly naked outside on an early October evening, while LeFou wore a thick banyan and had a fur wrapped over it. “Gaston?” LeFou asked quietly. “Is everything alright?”

Gaston didn’t know how to answer even such a simple question, so he didn’t. He did not want to admit, not even to LeFou, that nightmares plagued him. He would _never_ admit to the images conjured during these dreams. There were common themes-- he was always mocked by everyone, including LeFou. He was always burning. And there was always Stanley. Gaston thought it was the main reason he would never be closer to Stanley-- it was difficult to see the young poynter without remembering his appearances in dreams.

Gaston forced a brilliant smile. “Just admiring the stars, mon cher.”

LeFou settled himself into the grass next to Gaston. After a noticeable hesitation, he said very quietly, “How long have you been having them?”

“Having what? What are you going on about?”

LeFou shook his head. “I know it was a nightmare. I know you’ve had them before. I thought they were gone.”

Gaston sighed heavily. “I did too. But tonight…”

“Tonight was fantastic,” LeFou interrupted. “You focus on the one person who questioned the truthfulness of your story. What about the twenty people who were listening with rapt attention? What about the fact that your chair was there, waiting for you? What about our friends, who affirmed they would stand by us? What about you and I, holding hands in a public pub within eyesight of everyone? You spoke to more people today than you have in months, and I know you were happy telling your story. Please don’t focus on the _one person_ who had a bone to pick.”

Gaston knew there was truth in LeFou’s words, but in his mind, Noël’s voice was louder than all the other voices of the day.

“You will have to learn to control your temper, though,” LeFou added. “You can’t throw things at anyone who speaks up. If he hadn’t dodged--”

“I know,” Gaston barked. He did not need to be reminded about how easily he might end up living out his nightmare. Christian was well within his rights to burn affirmed sodomites, and if Gaston were to be found guilty of a crime, Prince Adam and his hangers-on would not stop Christian. Only it would not be at all like this dream. There would be no Stanley and LeFou in the front row. LeFou might share his punishment. That was not a fate he could risk. “I’m sorry,” Gaston said. “I didn’t mean to yell. You’re right.”

“I could teach you,” LeFou offered.

Gaston laughed genuinely now. “You are the least angry person I know. What could you possibly teach me about managing anger?”

LeFou chuckled softly. “You don’t have the monopoly on any emotion, mon ours, and certainly not on anger. You would be surprised what I hide.”

This gained Gaston’s immediate attention. “What do you hide from me?” he knew his voice sounded suspicious, but right now he didn’t care.

LeFou blew out air. “I hide how worried I am about you. I hide my own fear that one day you will not be able to control your anger. And I hide my own anger.”

Gaston threw up his hands. “Why not?” he hissed. “Everyone else is angry at me, why not you?”

LeFou shook his head. “I’m not angry at you. I’m angry at the village. They are so filled with self righteousness. They act like you single-handedly stormed a castle and forced them all to participate. They were out for blood as much as you were. And now they’re all fawning over Belle, when not long ago they couldn’t stand her. They couldn’t live with the guilt and blame they give you, so they inculpate you in order to exonerate themselves. They’re… cowards.”

Gaston stared blankly at LeFou. “I don’t know what half those words mean.”

“You got the point,” LeFou said.

“I… I did.” Gaston put his arm around LeFou, snaking it beneath the fur, as he found he no longer desired to be freezing cold. LeFou generously gave Gaston the bulk of the fur. Gaston pulled LeFou down to the grass with him until they were both staring up at the sky.

“Oooh,” LeFou gasped, “I saw a shooting star.”

“Did you make a wish?”

 

“I did,” LeFou said, snuggling into Gaston’s warmth.

“Are you going to tell me?”

“I shouldn’t, but I will. I wished we could go back inside where it’s warm.”

Gaston, who felt quite comfortable now that he had the fur wrapped around him, laughed and stood. He offered LeFou a hand and pulled the other man to his feet. Gaston then lead the way into their shared home, marveling at how easily LeFou had cheered him. That was always the way, wasn’t it? LeFou knew exactly the right things to say and do to bring a smile to Gaston’s face.

As they waited for the sun to rise, Gaston also brought a smile to LeFou’s face, tickling him and kissing him until they lay face-to-face, hard and naked, and opened their legs to each other.

When the Sun finally found them the next day, they happily ignored its pleas and lay in bed until an indecent hour. The day after a hunt had always been a day for rest. So once again, nothing had changed, except now they rested together.


	5. November

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christian causes trouble for Gaston and LeFou-- trouble Prince Adam gets them out of. Then there is the long hunt and sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Late chapter is late. Long chapter is long. No graphic because the graphics party of my brain shut down in order to channel more resources to the writing portion.

October passed in a pleasant monotony of day hunting followed by nights at the Tavern. Noël had the decency to not show his face there. LeFou and Gaston hunted about every third or fourth day throughout the month, and brought home enough game that by November, both of them had heavy pockets and spent with abandon, mostly at the Tavern. This was not a careless afterthought; Gaston was very affection when drunk-- he always had been-- and buying the room a round of beer also bought Gaston and LeFou the gratitude of a crowd who might otherwise be inclined towards bigotry. They were shamelessly buying themselves back into the townsfolks’ good graces. For LeFou, this was not about being liked. This was about being safe from harm and free to be himself. If money could buy such things, it was money well spent.

By November, LeFou honestly believed they were set as far as the Tavern was concerned. Things weren’t quite back to where they had been once. When LeFou told a story about Gaston, some didn’t watch with rapt attention. When Gaston sang, some didn’t participate. Still, there remained a core group who were always happy to see Gaston and LeFou, and who didn’t mind if they shared those little intimacies-- clasped hands or rubbed feet. In truth, the touches themselves were hardly different from before, but the context was changed, at least for the villagers.

LeFou and Gaston’s complacency was discovered to be just that when, after a day of hunting, they entered the Tavern to find Christian draped across Gaston’s chair. A few of his ‘friends’ stood behind him. When Gaston stepped into the light, all talking ceased. One glance at Christian betrayed that he was dead drunk. LeFou felt his heart race. He saw Gaston tense before Gaston closed the distance between them so they stood side by side.

“Well well well,” Christian sneered, “if it isn’t my old _friend_ Gaston.”

“Go home, Christian. You’ve overindulged,” Gaston said quietly. His hands knotted into fists.

“Oh, I will.” Christian stood slowly. “After I clean up this town. I have two children. I can’t let filth like you and this maggot you drag around with you mess up the town for them, no matter what the prince says.”

Someone from the back of the room cried, “He’ll exile you!”

Christian watched Gaston for a long time, then stepped past him just close enough to brush shoulders. In a moment, Christian was gone.

Gaston sat in his chair, frowning and messing about in the cushion. “It’s _warm_ ,” he groaned. “Disgusting.”

LeFou pulled up a nearby stool. “I hope that’s the last we’ve heard of him.”

Gaston began polishing his gleaming knife. “I dare say I hope not.”

LeFou frowned. “You were going to work on your temper.”

Gaston leaned back. “I’m completely calm.” He let the knife fly, and it struck the image of the deer’s heart dead center as usual.

He did seem completely calm, and that worried LeFou more than anything. “Please tell me you won’t do something that gets you exiled or killed. No matter what he does.”

Gaston cocked an eyebrow at LeFou. “I can’t make that promise.”

“Mon ours, you must promise me that you will bring this to the prince and not--”

“To the prince?! I’m supposed to go running to him like a petulant child because someone looked at me the wrong way?”

“No. I just mean… Look, how would you feel if was to head out into the woods for a week with no gear?”

“How would I _feel_? I don’t know, because I’d tie you down and you’d never get the chance.”

LeFou nodded. “Exactly. I don’t have the strength to tie you down with lashes, but I’m asking you to let me tie you down with words. Getting into a scrape with Christian can only bring us grief.”

Gaston sighed and frowned. He looked very pained. Finally, he flailed his arms and groaned. “Fine, fine. We can do this your way. If Christian provokes me, I’ll let you fetch your prince.”

It wasn’t exactly an ardent promise, but LeFou took it. He would eventually be glad he had.

*****

Gaston slowly made his way through his fourth mug of beer, watching the firelight dance and admiring the fine backsides of the women (and men-- he now let his eye wonder where he never had before) in the Tavern. It was getting late and exhaustion was settling into his bones. He started drinking in earnest, trying to finish the fourth mug so that he and LeFou could head home for the night.

LeFou. Gaston had lost track of him. He’d been chatting with Stanley over a game of piquet, but now Stanley was playing against Dick, and LeFou was nowhere to be seen. How long had he been missing?

Gaston stood and walked up to the piquet table. “Have you seen LeFou?” he asked the two men playing.

Both looked up at him in surprise. “Uh…” Stanley said, frowning. Dick scratched his chin. “He went out for a piss after he lost his game.”

“Ah,” Gaston said. “When was that?”

Stanley was looking around the Tavern. “Too long ago,” he answered quietly, getting to his feet.

“Eh,” Dick said, “What’s the big deal? Maybe he went home.”

Gaston and Stanley exchanged a glance though that said they knew what the big deal was. Gaston spun Dick’s chair clean around and planted a large boot within a hair’s breadth of Dick’s balls. He leaned close to the man. “The big deal,” Gaston growled, “Is that Christian was in here earlier _threatening_ me.”

“But he threatened you, not LeFou.”

Stanley answered this one. “Christian is a coward. He would not dare attack Gaston.”

Dick’s eyes grew wide and he jumped to his feet. Gaston relaxed when he saw Dick’s distress. LeFou was well-liked among their little group, perhaps more so than he was himself, though he had not been able to see that before.

Tom was asleep in the corner, so they left him, and Gaston lead them quietly to the back door and out to the privy, which stood in a yard a little away from the Tavern to control the stink. Most men simply peed in the yard on the way to the privy, and as a result the garden was clumps of dead grass spotted with a few hardy shrubs. And there, behind one of the shrubs, lay LeFou.

Gaston sprang into action, heart hammering, emotions shocking him directly back to the war. He had seen LeFou fall in the field once. It turned out to be a concussion due to a too-close cannonball, but at the time Gaston had had no way to know this. And now, seeing LeFou laid out in the dirt…

He felt for LeFou’s pulse and was greeted with a low moan from the man he loved. Gaston’s heart skipped a beat in relief. “Mon amour,” Gaston whispered. “Mon Fabien. Come back to me. It’s your Gaston.” He spoke softly and tenderly, even though his heart was clenching with fury.

LeFou’s eyes opened. “Gaston?”

“Who was it?”

“I’m just bruised. Christian said he--”

Gaston helped LeFou sit up, cradling his back gently. “I knew it,” Gaston growled. “I’ll kill him.”

LeFou laid a cold hand on Gaston’s cheek. “Thibeault. Let someone else kill him this time.”

The shock of hearing his name brought Gaston back to the last time he had heard it spoken-- to the day by the river when he had murdered his father for less than Christian had done. _Let someone else kill him this time._ “It’s my job to protect you,” Gaston said, conflicted.

“And it’s my job to protect _you_ ,” LeFou answered. “I’m _fine_. He simply knocked me out. He had a message for you.”

“What was it?”

LeFou handed Gaston a folded note. Gaston opened it and read it silently. It was vulgar. In it, Christian, who always attended mass with his family, threatened escalating harm to LeFou unless they both left Villeneuve.

“He plans to run us out of town,” Gaston said.

LeFou tilted his head. “He threatened you?”

“He threatened _you_ ,” Gaston said, “Unless we leave.”

“Oh. Then he doesn’t want us to leave town, Gaston.”

“He says so right here…”

“He is counting on you attacking him, so he can paint you as a villain, and himself as a hero for hanging you. It’s a trap. You must get the prince.”

Gaston felt rage and reason warring within him. Killing Christian seemed a much cleaner tactic than all this scampering around begging others to defend them, but LeFou was right. Christian had set a trap, and probably had people waiting to arrest Gaston the moment he fell into it.

How lovely would Christian’s face look, painted with humiliation at having so misjudged Gaston, when the trap was sprung on Prince Adam instead?

Gaston took a deep breath. Then he turned to Dick and Stanley. “Dick, ride for the castle. Bring the prince to my home. Stanley, bring the doctor.” When they continued to stare dumbfounded at LeFou, Gaston shouted, “Now!” and both ran off.

Gaston then lifted LeFou and carried him home.

*****

LeFou must have passed out again, because when he woke, he was in his own bed in his own home. Gaston sat at his bedside, laying a cool cloth against the throbbing side of his face.

“How bad do I look?” LeFou asked.

“You look courageous,” Gaston answered without missing a beat. “And beautiful.”

LeFou laughed. “I mean how bad is the bruise?”

“Bad enough.”

Just then, the front door burst open and Stanley led the old doctor, Luc, into the bedroom. He ran LeFou through some silly maneuvers such as following a finger and touching his nose. Finally he stood straight and nodded. “It’s merely a minor concussion. You must have seen them in the war, Captain.”

Gaston glowered at Luc. Both Gaston and LeFou had known Luc their entire lives, but Gaston looked ready to throttle him at the suggestion that LeFou’s injuries could be described using the word “merely”.

“Anyway,” Luc continued anxiously. “He should stay in bed for a couple days to be on the safe side.” To LeFou he said, “Now, lad, if you feel nauseous or faint or have an ache in your head, it means you have overdone it and you need more rest. If you feel fine, you are fine.”

Just then, Prince Adam and Dick strode through the front door and through the interior door to the bedroom. Gaston grew stoney, though his face was flushed with internalized anger.

“How is he?” Dick asked Gaston, hat in hand.

“I’m fine,” LeFou answered himself. “I just got a little knocked around.”

The prince looked to the doctor for confirmation of this, and Luc nodded jovially, the flabby skin under his chin waving like a turkey’s wattle. “He’ll be one hundred percent in less than a week, mark my words.”

“Who did this?” the prince asked LeFou.

Silently, Gaston passed LeFou the letter, who then handed it to Adam. “Christian,” he whispered.

The prince read the letter in silence, though his face contorted through a variety of emotions.

“What does it say?” LeFou asked. The prince and Gaston locked eyes and something seemed to pass between them. LeFou abruptly felt like a child whose parents were having a conversation over his head. “You aren’t going to tell me,” he surmised.

“It is… he threatens you with bodily harm, and then describes in detail the bodily harm he sees as justified.”

“Oh. In _detail_?”

Gaston shook his head. “You don’t have to worry. I won’t let him touch you.”

“I’m not _worried_ ,” LeFou said. “I’m _curious_. You both make this letter sound horrific. I’ve known Christian a long time--”

“Not as long as I have,” Gaston interrupted. He and Christian had been friends once, LeFou knew. Their friendship had ended when Christian refused to enlist, and Gaston had called him a coward.

“I never would have believed this of him,” Adam sighed.

“What does it _say_?” LeFou begged once again.

This time, Stanley snatched the note from the prince’s hand and held it out. Then he sputtered to a stop. “ _Oh_ ,” he said, handing it back.

“Not you too,” LeFou groaned.

“It said…” Stanley looked at Gaston, then back at LeFou. “In short, it says that if you enjoy sodomy with Gaston so very much, he would like to, uh, see how you enjoy it with himself and his friends.”

“Oh,” LeFou said. “That’s ironic, given that we haven’t...” He stopped himself short.

“What’s ironic?” the prince asked.

LeFou felt his cheeks warm and he pressed his lips together, but Stanley was less inhibited. He laughed brightly and said, “I think LeFou is implying that he and Gaston have not engaged in sodomy. Is that right?”

LeFou looked down, hiding his face behind a curtain of hair.

“Still?” Stanley’s eyebrows climbed and he looked at Gaston. Gaston seemed more confused than angry. “Well,” Stanley said, “you have much to look forward to, Monsieur Gaston.” He laughed again.

“Gaston,” the prince said, interrupting Stanley’s playful teasing. “I am delighted, if surprised, that you brought this to my attention rather than taking this into your own hands. I have your assurances this letter is real?”

“I was there,” Dick said. “Me and Stanley will both attest to it! LeFou had it.”

“Just because LeFou had it doesn’t mean Gaston didn’t write it and give it to him before hand.”

Stanley laughed at this. “Excuse me, your highness. Look at him,” he waved a hand at Gaston. “I don’t think he even knows what sodomy _is_.”

Gaston stood, no longer willing to be the brunt of the joke. LeFou reached out and held his hand. Gaston’s attention jumped from Stanley to LeFou, and that was all it took. His jaw relaxed just a fraction, just enough for LeFou to see it. “Stanley gets silly when he’s upset,” LeFou whispered. “Don’t let it get to you.”

“Sorry, mon ami,” Stanley said, sounding sheepish. “I didn’t… sometimes I go too far.” To Adam he said, “I really mean it, though. Gaston didn’t write this letter. I’d stake my life on it.”

“Aye, me too!” Dick answered.

“LeFou?” Adam asked.

“Christian handed it to me with his own hand. He asked me to tuck it inside my coat, and made sure I did. He was being friendly. I thought it was an apology, honestly. Then he kicked me and pushed me onto the ground. There, he kept kicking, until I felt the blow to my head…”

Gaston’s hand clenched LeFou’s, and LeFou hissed at the pressure.

“I think he was trying to lure Gaston somewhere, to make Gaston seem like the aggressor.”

The prince nodded. “He will be in custody by the time you wake tomorrow.”

“How?” LeFou asked. “How are you going to arrest him? There are a few of them and one of you, and you have no guards…”

The prince smiled. “But I do have the element of surprise. He is expecting Gaston. I plan to give him that. Do you mind if I borrow your coat, Gaston?”

Gaston glowered at the prince.

“That’s fine, I have a red one of my own that will look enough like you on this dark night. I just need a few people to spring my own trap on him.”

“Let me help,” Dick said, stepping forward. “I’m pretty handy with my flintlock. You can ask Gaston.”

Gaston did nod at this. “You are, Dick.”

“I will come too,” Stanley said. “You will be better in a fight, your highness, so you should let me be bait.”

The prince studied Stanley’s build. “You _could_ pass as Gaston with the right clothes.”

Gaston stood at this and slipped out of his beloved uniform coat. He held it up for Stanley to put on. LeFou had to admit Stanley was a lovely sight in uniform. “Thank you, Captain,” Stanley whispered almost reverently.

“If you bring it back with even a single hole in it, I will kill you myself,” Gaston said.

As a single hole was all it would take to kill Stanley, LeFou understood this to be a statement of concern for Stanley, not the coat. Stanley seemed to have understood too, by the fond look he was giving Gaston.

“Alright,” the prince said. “As I said, the two of you should rest.”

Whether it was the concussion or simply exhaustion, LeFou was not certain, but he did feel his eyes growing heavy at the mere suggestion of sleep. He was unconscious before their house guests had even made the front door.

*****

LeFou was sound asleep, and Gaston considered joining the little group of men about to apprehend Gaston’s once-friend and would-be-killer. If LeFou’s sleep had merely been one of exhaustion, he would have gone in an instant. But LeFou had been hit in the head, and Gaston knew that he should wake LeFou every few hours to make certain he could still be awoken. The doctor made the situation sound trivial, but Gaston did not want to take such chances. He sighed and scrubbed his face with a damp cloth before blowing out the lanterns and climbing into bed next to his sleeping beauty.

Waking LeFou at intervals would not be a problem, as Gaston himself could not sleep. Out there in the night, a battle was being fought-- a battle to protect Gaston and LeFou. And not everyone fighting it was a friend. Prince Adam was no friend of his, but now the prince was their protector. Gaston had _never_ had a protector. As a young lad, he’d thought that was his father’s job, but in hindsight his father had only ever protected him from happiness. His father had not been a protector; he had been an enforcer who sought power for its own sake.

Gaston could certainly understand the appeal of power, but once you had happiness, you only wanted as much power as necessary to protect your joy. He stroked LeFou’s hair lightly.

LeFou’s eyes flittered open. “Gaston,” he whispered in the near-pitch dark, reaching out.

“I’m here, mon amour.”

“Thank you,” LeFou said, voice still thick with sleep.

“For?”

“For doing this my way tonight.”

“I want to kill him. I want him to escape from the prince so I can kill him.”

“I know,” LeFou sighed. “I’m an idiot for letting him hurt me.”

Gaston turned fully to LeFou. He could just make out the shape of LeFou’s face. “No, Fabien, never. Let’s not talk about him any more tonight.”

LeFou pressed a chaste kiss to Gaston’s lips. “That sounds perfect.”

After a long silence, Gaston mustered his nerve and asked. “What did Stanley mean when he said we had not-- when he said I had something to look forward to? What am I missing?”

LeFou pulled back slightly. “Truly? You don’t know?”

Gaston didn’t speak, afraid of admitting his confusion. LeFou sighed deeply. “It is the custom among men… Well, when you are with a woman, it is typical to penetrate her, right?”

“Well,” Gaston hummed. “Yes, but there’s much that can be enjoyed besides that.”

“Yes!” LeFou sounded relieved. “Exactly! We have been enjoying other things.”

“Other things? Besides?”

LeFou laughed. “How did you think men typically have sex?”

“I assumed what we have been doing--”

“Uh, sometimes,” LeFou said. “But many men crave... penetration. You know.”

“But where--?” Gaston tried to imagine what penetration there could be among men. They had mouths, and--. “No! That can’t work.”

“Uh, yes, it can and it does.”

“That sounds _terrible_.”

“It’s… not. I really enjoy it, actually. A lot.”

“You… wait, do you enjoy… being the _penetrator_ , or…”

“No. I mean, that’s alright but… I really like the other. Umm, the other position.”

Gaston bit his bottom lip. His heart was racing. “That… if you promise me you enjoy it--”

“Oh, I _do_.”

Gaston felt his blood pool in his loins and he groaned involuntarily at the thought of what LeFou was suggesting.

LeFou’s hand found Gaston’s enlarged manhood and moved lazily. “Would you like to be inside of me, Gaston?”

Gaston wanted to howl with the fury of it all. He could have had this all along? But LeFou was injured and supposed to rest. Gaston’s pulse thundered. “What you do to me…” he whispered. Then he added, “You’re supposed to rest. We can’t do this. Not now.”

LeFou sighed. “I do have a pretty bad headache. But the idea of you getting hard at the mere thought of being inside of me...”

Gaston swatted LeFou’s hand away and sprang from the bed. His hands shook as he lit a lantern.

“What are you doing?” LeFou asked. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m going to the kitchen. Where I’m going to heat up water and make you tea. Willow bark and feverfew. For your headache. And I’m going to dump some cold water on myself while I’m at it.”

“You’re going to… take care of yourself without me, aren’t you?” LeFou sounded disappointed.

“No,” Gaston answered. “I desperately want to, but no.” He turned to look LeFou directly in the eye then. “The next time my seed leaves my body, will be into yours. I promise that.” LeFou shivered visibly, and Gaston felt a little rakish for painting such a lustful image. Then he adjusted himself within his underdrawers, and withdrew to the kitchen to fulfill the duties of caretaker.

*****

When LeFou awoke again, he was alone in bed. The slant of the sun through the window told him he had slept a long time, and he assumed this was because he’d needed it. Now, though, he had other needs. He was worried his headache might return. He did see some spots when he sat up, but he found if he moved slowly and deliberately there was no pain behind his eyes. He walked to the chamber pot in the corner and relieved himself. Now that one need was taken care of, his body let another be known. His stomach growled angrily.

In the main room, LeFou found Gaston seated across the table from Tom. Gaston’s eyes flicked up to LeFou, and Tom turned.

“Uh,” LeFou gave a strained smile, “I didn’t know we had company.” He was still in yesterday’s rumpled clothes. “I’m… Did you hear about last night?”

Tom nodded. “The prince sent Stanley and Dick to bed, but collared me to come ‘round and let you know what happened. And to check on you and all. Are you alright?”

LeFou smiled more genuinely this time and sat at the table, while Gaston got up and started to fix him a plate of food. “Just a little head bump. Stanley and Dick?”

Tom grinned. “They filled me on the the whole thing, with Stanley pretending to be Gaston, and the prince and Dick ambushing Christian. The prince has dragged him off to the castle and locked him up there, but he’s asking you come as soon as you can for his sentencing.”

“Me?” LeFou squeaked. “Why on earth?”

“Something about wanting to hear both sides?” Tom shrugged.

Gaston set down the plate in front of LeFou and said, “He didn’t say anything about me being there, did he?” LeFou knew Gaston would rather be anyplace than back in the castle, where his demons haunted him.

Tom’s eyes darted back and forth between LeFou and Gaston before he sighed and said, “As a matter of fact... He specifically told me to tell you not to come.”

Gaston nodded. “Good.”

Tom tilted his head. “I expect he’s worried you might, you know…”

“Try to kill Christian?” LeFou supplied.

Gaston didn’t see this as an insult, but as a compliment. “I would,” he stated succinctly. “And if they hadn’t captured him last night, I’d have got him by this morning. He was playing a dangerous game.”

Tom laughed nervously. “Anyone who crosses Gaston has a death wish, eh? Look at what happened to Maur--…” Tom’s voice died away as he noticed LeFou shaking his head and Gaston glaring at him. “Well,” he cleared his throat, “the missus will be wondering where I’m off to if I’m gone too long. You take care, LeFou.” He stood, shoving his hat back on his head. “Gaston,” he said, nodding.

“Tom,” Gaston said, none of his usual charm in evidence. He was serious and quiet as Tom let himself out.

“Thank you for the food,” LeFou said quietly.

This seemed to jerk Gaston out of some dark reverie. He smiled, and LeFou could tell it was a tad forced, but not entirely. “I’m just glad you have an appetite today. I was worried we would have to cancel the long hunt.”

LeFou’s eyes grew wide and he shook his head. “The village might not even make it through the winter without the long hunt.” 

“You are more important than the village.”

“I’ll be fine in another day or two.”

Gaston nodded. “Good. I’m not a patient man, LeFou.” His eyes were dark, pupils wide, and LeFou realized Gaston was not talking about hunting any more.

LeFou swallowed his eggs without chewing them, his eyes holding Gaston’s. Gaston did not look away. “I might be fine now…” LeFou whispered.

Gaston shook his head. “We _do_ need you better for hunting.”

“When’s that?”

“Five days.”

LeFou nodded. He tried to shove more eggs down his throat and to not think about sex, which really only made him think about it more. He sighed. He was going to need to wash the dirt and blood off anyway-- he would throw a bucket of cold water on himself before heading to the castle.

*****

Gaston kept busy while LeFou was off confronting Christian at the castle. If he thought too hard on Christian, his blood boiled with a murderous rage. And when he considered that he’d sent LeFou to confront his attacker alone, Gaston’s gut twisted in guilt. Anger was easier than guilt, and a better friend, so Gaston stoked it. He chopped wood, and with each ax swing, imagined Christian’s neck was on the block. He burned brush, and imagined it was Christian’s home, burnt to the ground. The more he entertained his anger, the darker his imaginings grew. Finally, with no more tasks left to do for the day, he saw that many hours had passed since LeFou should have returned home.

Guilt bubbled back to the surface then. Something had happened to LeFou because Gaston wasn’t there to protect him. Buddy had thrown him somewhere, and he lay injured… But just then a head poked out the back door. “Gaston!” LeFou called. “I’ve brought dinner!”

Gaston only then realized he hadn’t eaten since early that morning. He dropped his tools and went into the house. “What took you so long?” he said.

“Well…” LeFou gestured to the food already set on the table. “Courtesy of Cuisinier.” An array of expensive pates and caviars with breads, cheeses, and sugared fruits adorned the table. Gaston immediately forgot what he had been thinking about and sat down so LeFou could fix him a plate.

After dinner, they stoked a fire and sat beside it to enjoy a bottle of red wine. “Your trip did not overly tire you, I hope?” Gaston asked.

“It did a bit. That’s why I stayed the afternoon. Belle gave me a bed to lie down on.”

“Ah.” Gaston felt like a fool for not having guessed this. He remembered his frightened imaginings of LeFou hurt on the road and thought he was turning into a woman.

“But that’s not… the only reason,” LeFou was clearly building up to telling him something.

“Yes,” Gaston said. “How did the trial go? Are they going to execute him?”

“He was sentenced to exile,” LeFou said, sounding regretful rather than jubilant.

Gaston could understand why LeFou did not celebrate that outcome. “Exiled!? Surely he still presents a risk to you even if he does not live here! He ought to have been executed! Immediately, I dare say.”

“Yes, well… I think we could all guess you would say that.”

“Because it’s the right thing to do. That’s the way of the world, LeFou. This prince is too soft. I suppose Christian’s long gone by now?” Gaston was getting to his feet.

 

“What are you doing?” LeFou asked.

“Looking for my hat. I can still track him, finish what he started.”

“Uh uh. No. That was why I stayed away all day. I knew that as soon as you heard, you would go after him. You can’t possibly find him now, at night, and you don’t even know where he may be.”

Gaston realized the truth in LeFou’s words and sighed in exasperation. He shook his head. “I won’t hurt her, but I can hold his wife ransom. He’ll have to come back for her--”

“Gaston!”

“It’s no worse than he did to me,” Gaston snapped. “He could have killed you LeFou! I ought to drag his wife out of her home and beat her until she’s unconscious in the gutter.”

“She’s gone,” LeFou said. He was standing, fists clenched, face red. “I stayed at the castle all day because I knew you would react like this. The prince and Belle were going to exile him immediately but I begged that he be able to take his whole family. I knew they would be at risk if they stayed. At risk from _you_. I wanted to give them a good head start on you.”

Gaston felt rage color his face. He wasn’t just angry at LeFou for endangering himself, but for making Gaston feel like a fool in the process. Gaston was afraid of his temper, afraid he might hurt LeFou again. He remembered his father, and asked himself what sort of husband he wanted to be. Did he want to be like his father and solve problems with his fists, hold grudges for decades, and push everyone away? Holding in his anger was even harder, but he was _so_ angry and there was simply no outlet for it. He squeezed his palms over his eyes, listening to his heart thundering in his head, before he sank down into his chair once again. When he moved his hands away from his eyes, he was surprised to find them overflowing with tears.

“Fabien,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m just so… I’m so angry at him for hurting you I can’t even express it.”

LeFou sighed fondly and sat on the arm of Gaston’s chair. “And no one faults you for that. Truly. The prince, Belle, myself-- none of us think less of you for being angry. We just know you don’t have complete control over that yet, and so we wanted to take precautions. And you know what?”

“What?” Gaston growled. He could just imagine LeFou and Prince Adam and _Princess_ Belle sitting around discussing his failings as a human being. The thought made him feel lower than low. He felt like dirt.

“I really am proud of you. You sent for the prince last night. It may seem small to you, but it’s not. Nobody thinks that’s small.” LeFou lay a kiss on Gaston’s cheek, then turned Gaston’s head to catch his lips.

Gaston was still sulking, still feeling low, but it was a hard feeling to hold on to with LeFou complimenting him and kissing him.

“I’m so sorry,” Gaston whispered. “I’m sorry I endangered you by us being together, and I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you, and I’m sorry you had to worry all day about my temper, and I’m sorry that your worries were well-founded. I have to do better.”

LeFou nuzzled into Gaston’s hair and said, “Gaston, don’t you ever say you are sorry we are together.”

They did nothing that night beyond kissing, but by the time Gaston was asleep, he had forgotten entirely about Christian and about all his failings of the day before.

*****

As LeFou got better, Gaston was mindful that they were drawing closer to the day when he would bed LeFou properly in the way that men did… but then his own nerves would overcome him and by night he had some new excuse for not coming to bed, somewhere else he had to be. He recalled how the first girl he’d tried to bed had laughed at him, and he knew it would be just the same. LeFou had been with many lovers, but Gaston was so ignorant of how men had sex that Stanley had laughed at him. Suddenly the would remember a hole in the fence that needed patching lest the chickens get eaten by a fox, or a loose shingle that might need repair if it rained overnight, and before he knew it, the day of the hunting trip was upon them.

*****

By mid-November, the fields were gleaned and the deer had moved on to find food in more remote areas. The town, though, still had need of meat and hide. Because the game was more scarce, the price a buck could bring creeped higher. Gaston had commanded the longhunting trips since his father died; his father had led them before him; and his uncle prior to his father. If Gaston had truly been dead, LeFou was not sure who would have led them. Xavier had the knowledge of the woods, but he was too old. LeFou shivered to think that he himself might have been called upon. That would have been a mess. And if no one went, the village would face a hard, lean winter.

Gaston and LeFou did not have to talk to each other to know how to prepare. In hunting, they had long ago formed a perfect team. They each already knew which gear they were responsible for. LeFou fulfilled all his usual duties.

Finally, on the tenth of November before the sun even rose, the first knocks sounded on LeFou’s door. He was up to his elbows in food, cooking eggs and meat and bread for the party. Gaston admitted Tom and Dick. Stanley did not like longhunting. He said camping for two weeks in the cold was not his idea of fun. He had come twice through the years-- just enough to know he did not like it.

Tom and Dick took seats around the table and dug into the food. While they ate and LeFou cooked, Gaston admitted the rest of their party: Dimitri worked the bar and cooked the food at the Tavern; Armel was his teenage son; and Gabriel, who usually sold farm goods at market, was Dimitri’s friend. Dimitri also brought with him Xavier’s two dogs. Finally, LeFou finished cooking and sat with the group to eat. They idly planned where they would go, but they had been out together before. Only Armel was not a veteran of their party, so the conversation slowly devolved into ribbing the boy. At last, meal finished, they all pulled on warm clothes and went outside to mount their horses. In addition to the six men, there were six horses and five mules, and the two dogs. Gaston turned their train east towards the glowing sunrise. LeFou rode at his side.

The first day was one of endless riding without hardly a snack except what could be grabbed from the saddle bags while moving. LeFou could not blame Stanley for staying home, and in truth there was a tiny part of LeFou who wished he could still be in bed with the covers up over his face, but he knew that was not the life he’d chosen when he’d decided to partner with Gaston. Years ago, he’d accepted his de facto role as Gaston’s batman after the war as well as in it. Now, he didn’t think he’d want to be away from Gaston for two weeks.

Finally, Gaston declared that he had seen the scat of bear, wolf, boar, and deer within the past hour and they weren’t likely to get much better. LeFou spotted a thinning in the trees off to their left, and they made for it only to find a lovely little clearing sporting a stream and a deer path. At this rate, they could bag deer by tripping them as they walked through the camp.

Everyone went about building their shelters, and LeFou felt strange. He had always built a small twig lean-to nearby Gaston’s canvas tent. He had never presumed to share the tent with Gaston, and Gaston had never invited him inside. Gaston was clearly able to erect his own tent, and when LeFou tried to be helpful, Gaston shooed him away and made him sit and rest. Honestly, though, it had been nearly a week since his concussion and LeFou felt fine. Still, not wanting to be in the way, he started the fire and watched the other parties assemble their shelters: Tom and Dick shared one lean-to, and Dimitri, Armel, and Gabriel shared a second. Gaston’s shelter alone was entirely closed to the elements, and it would be warm with the oilcloth cover. He’d hung the cloth from a low bough and staked it to the ground before filling in all the edges with pine boughs and throwing blankets on the floor. By the time Gaston was finished, LeFou had a roaring fire and was already heating some salted pork for the group. Everyone ate happily, but they didn’t sit up long that evening. An entire day of riding had tired everyone out. LeFou retired into Gaston’s tent, and he was asleep almost before he hit the floor.

*****

The morning was brilliant and bright, and the party saddled up early. Gaston’s hope was to make an early kill. Then they would have time to dress, skin, and smoke it well before dinner, and they could dine on fresh meat for the next day. This was how he preferred to hunt. He’d bring home not just preserved meat, furs, and bones, but he’d come home well-rested and with a full belly, having spent each evening singing and drinking and eating.

Their first day went even better than Gaston had hoped. They found an impressive buck not far from camp, and Gaston got it in one shot. By the time the early November sun was setting, they had all filled up on deer meat and fresh apples from Gabriel’s supplies.

But Gaston was not truly happy. Since the deer had hit the earth, his manhood was aching for attention. He wanted to demonstrate his own resolve to himself by putting off the subject until the proper time. In the past, he’d dealt with the issue himself on long hunts, but he had already been one week without release and he didn’t think he could go much longer. Just as soon as he could get away with it, he stood and declared that he and LeFou were going to bed.

LeFou had just opened the cognac and for a moment he looked confused at this proclamation. Then his eyes lit with understanding, and Gaston was gratified that he didn’t have to speak twice.

Gaston entered the tent and waited. As soon as LeFou entered, Gaston was on him, drinking in his scent, stripping off his clothes. He sucked welts onto LeFou’s neck, and in between he whispered, “You are healed?”

“Yes,” LeFou said breathlessly.

Gaston was glad; he was not sure he would have been able to stop himself regardless. He pushed down his own pants and nearly threw LeFou onto the ground. Once LeFou was where Gaston wanted him, he finished taking off all of LeFou’s clothes. “God,” Gaston breathed, taking in the pale, smooth flesh of his lover. He ran his hand over the curve of LeFou’s rump. “Are you sure this is what you want? For me to… here?” Gaston asked. He could do anything, truly. It didn’t have to be this. It was hard for Gaston to imagine that anyone would want to be entered that way.

“Oh God yes,” LeFou gasped. “Please.” He sounded desperate. “I have wanted this forever, mon ours. Forever.”

“If it pleases you,” Gaston said. He bit his lip. “You will have to tell me…”

LeFou nodded his understanding. “Come,” he whispered, “Lie on your side next to me. Yes, like this.” LeFou lay on his side, with Gaston behind him, Gaston’s erect manhood already positioned as if to enter LeFou’s exit. “Now,” LeFou said, “You will have to spread lard on yourself and on me, on my entrance.”

Gaston reached for their little tub. He put quite a bit on himself, and then spread LeFou’s cheeks order to see… His cock twitched and he thought he might come then. The idea of looking at LeFou’s most private place, and with the intention of being _inside_ LeFou. Gaston gasped.

“Are you alright?” LeFou asked.

“Yes,” Gaston said. “I just… you are amazing.”

LeFou chuckled. “You are pretty awe-inspiring yourself. Now, if you will, it helps to put a finger in first while you spread the lard.”

Gaston grunted and traced one finger lazily over the tender pink skin of LeFou’s hole, before letting his finger slip inside. He grunted again. _Inside_. “LeFou,” he croaked. “I can’t… I have to…”

“That’s fine,” LeFou cooed gently over his shoulder. “I’m no virgin. If you are that close, by all means---”

Gaston needed no second invitation. In a moment his cock was at LeFou’s entrance. He pushed gently but there seemed to be no give. “It won’t--- I can’t--”

“Ssh,” LeFou said, and he reached behind and helped Gaston hold his manhood in place while LeFou slowly backed onto it. With each heartbeat, Gaston felt more of that tight channel encircle his cock.

“Mon dieu, I had no idea you were this _tight_! I…” He was breathing heavily. They had barely started, and he was already on the edge. “LeFou, I---”

LeFou stopped moving and whispered “Ssh,” again, and Gaston felt his completion recede. LeFou took Gaston’s hand and placed it on LeFou’s hard cock. Then, LeFou shifted once hard and suddenly Gaston was entirely inside LeFou. 

Gaston gasped. LeFou started moving gently back and forth, nothing more than the simple rocking of a boat, rocking with Gaston _inside_ of LeFou’s body. It was a place Gaston thought he’d always been meant to be. It was like entering a strange house only to find that it had always been your home.

Gaston came all too quickly and with an unfettered howl, unworried about who might hear. As his climax faded, he bit LeFou, hard enough to draw blood, pumping his hand on LeFou. He felt LeFou’s inner walls convulse around his failing erection, and LeFou stifled a cry.

“Fabien…” Gaston nearly sobbed. LeFou’s tightness was keeping Gaston’s flaccid manhood from leaving, and it felt like a metaphor. “I… I am without words. You are the hunt of a lifetime, the only trophy I need. You are my coming home. Mon petit fou.”

LeFou sighed with a sound that was like bliss embodied. He moved so Gaston slipped out of him and turned over. He lay one hand on Gaston’s cheek, and kissed Gaston. Gaston returned the kiss not with lust, but with adoration. He was unused to adoring anyone; he himself had always been the object of adoration for all around him. Now he felt he was laying with an angel, meeting in his tent with some secret Greek god who had chosen him from all mortal men. If he’d known the names of any such ancient gods, he might have invoked them just to make certain this man before him was mortal. But he had slept through classics lessons, and so he only knew the name of one god: _Fabien Fabien Fabien_.

*****

In the morning, no one would meet LeFou’s eyes, and no one spoke to Gaston more than was required, and LeFou found their embarrassment delightful. Had none of them ever had sex? Well, perhaps not Armel, but he was nearly a man and if he hadn’t yet, he would soon. LeFou did not cover up his love bites, and on the nights that followed, he did not make any effort to stifle his groans of ecstasy as Gaston improved his techniques. Frankly, none of it mattered. They were still taking down one to two deer a day, and their afternoons were quite full preserving the meat. They took no precaution against bears getting the meat; and on the sixth day, their laziness was rewarded when Gaston shot a good sized bear in the midst of camp. He was elated. That night, he was elated _four times_ , and LeFou wished for more bears.

But alas, as the end of the second week came upon them, and snow started blanketing the ground, the game became scarce, as did their stores. Finally, Gaston declared it was time to head home, and they piled their quarie on the mules-- bones, hides, salted and dried meats-- and headed back down the mountain. The money from this bounty could probably buy Gaston a new coat, but LeFou was hoping for something a tad different. They spent enough time on their backs that he held out a secret hope for a featherbed and bolster instead. He would have to drop the hint to Gaston sometime before Christmas.

As they rode home with their heavy mules, LeFou led the entire group in a rousing list of songs, including every hunting song he knew. The awkwardness of the earlier week had worn off by now. They made a pretty sight, riding their horses into town, Gaston in the lead, the entire party singing joyously, followed by mules overburdened by sustenance that promised to get Villeneuve through the winter. And if Christian’s henchmen or companions had held any ill will towards Gaston or LeFou, they would have to come to terms with their own black hearts, or else starve in the cold months to come.

A soft white snow drifted down from the clouds, and LeFou smiled upward.


	6. December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The happy ending, because any ending worth being considered happy should not come at the end of the story and because things do not have to be perfect to be happy.

On the first of December, it was late morning when a knock sounded on the front door of LeFou and Gaston’s cottage. Both were indisposed to answer the door, as at that moment LeFou was sitting astride a reclined Gaston’s manhood. LeFou almost had Gaston right where he wanted him. Gaston groaned deeply and LeFou stilled, reaching a hand down to squeeze Gaston’s balls.

“Damn you,” Gaston grumbled. “I’m so close.”

“I know.”

Gaston gasped and his head dropped backward against the pillow. “Let me come!”

“Once you agree to buy a featherbed.”

“Yes, yes, please… just… let… me… _LeFou_.”

LeFou laughed and released Gaston to continue riding that beautiful specimen of humanity, that paragon of masculinity, between his thighs.

The banging on the door was harder this time.

“I’m close,” LeFou whispered, moving harder and faster. Gaston’s hands dug into LeFou’s hips and Gaston wailed his release. LeFou followed only a moment later, collapsing against Gaston, both sweaty despite the chill in the air.

“Was that someone at the door?” LeFou asked.

Gaston groaned. “Can’t you just leave it?”

“What if it’s an emergency?”

“There’s no emergency,” Gaston assured him. “It’s probably Stanley wanting to trade for more salt pork.”

But LeFou’s curiosity got the better of him. He rose, pulling a banyan over himself, and left the room. Looking back at Gaston, still draped across the bed with no clothes on, LeFou smiled and closed the door behind him.

Only when he opened the front door to see that it _was_ , in fact, Stanley, did LeFou feel self-conscious about his uncombed hair, his red and sweaty face. _The still pleasantly stretched-out feeling in his derriere._ “Uh,” LeFou mumbled, “Now’s not an especially good time.”

Stanley’s cheeks were apple-red. “I heard. I just wanted to give you this.” Stanley pulled an envelope out of his greatcoat, and LeFou wanted to groan at the sight of it. The vellum and calligraphy could only mean one thing-- a ball.

“LeFou,” Stanley said, “I wanted you to know that the same offer applies as last time. I will go with you.”

LeFou shook his head. “I don’t think we’ll be coming to this one.” He took the envelope all the same. “The last one didn’t go very well, and it hardly seemed worth the trouble.” Indeed, his first ball was such an amazing and glittering affair in the midst of depression and blackness that he had elevated it to something ethereal. The reality of the second ball could not live up to that memory.

“Your choice,” Stanley shrugged. “I was also going to ask for salt pork but...” He blushed again and whispered, “I think it best if I leave. Good day, LeFou.”

“Good day, Stanley.”

Even as LeFou was closing the door, Gaston was emerged from their bedroom, now fully dressed. He snatched the envelope from LeFou’s hand. He snapped the letter open with a flourish. “By proclamation of the blah blah blah, his majesty… Well it’s a ball, anyway. For Christmas. And I am invited. By name. And I am most definitely going.

LeFou’s eyebrow climbed. “Why?”

“I _want_ to.”

LeFou was unsettled. He didn’t think Gaston really wanted to go to Belle’s Christmas ball. Was he trying to keep LeFou from going with Stanley? Was he trying to show that he could behave himself at a ball? “If you want to go to impress Belle or keep Stanley away, it’s not necessary. You don’t have anything to prove to me,” LeFou said gently. 

“Apparently,” Gaston said haughtily, “I do. I need to prove that I _want_ to go.”

He turned and stomped outside, presumably to take care of the animals. LeFou let it drop.

*****

It was about one week after receiving the invitation when LeFou came home from the meager winter market to find Gaston standing nervously by the door, awaiting his arrival. Gaston was fully dressed in a sharp and clean suit of a rich dark blue, lined with silver piping.

“Is this new?” LeFou asked, startled. He secretly wondered how much it had cost, but he knew he had no place to question how Gaston spent his own money.

“I had this made,” Gaston gestured to his suit, “to prove to you that I do intend to go to the Christmas ball. I know you doubted my reasons. I can understand your confusion, LeFou. I have never shared your appreciation for slow music or slower dancing, nor for fancy dinners with stuffy snobs. But I will allow that the castle is beautiful-- at least now that the curse is lifted--, the musicians quite talented, and you in a shining suit… Well, come into the bedroom. Let me show you.”

Gaston spun on one heel and LeFou followed. There laying across their bed was a silver-blue brocade suit, lined and adorned with the dark blue of Gaston’s suit. It was clearly cut for LeFou’s size. LeFou was speechless.

“I know,” Gaston said, though LeFou hadn’t said anything. “It’s gorgeous. And it will be gorgeous on _you_. I’m taking you to the ball. We’ll be having dinner, and dancing until our feet hurt, and I won’t let even Maurice stop me.”

“Why?” LeFou finally said. “Are you trying to send a message to Belle? Because as I said, you know you have nothing to prove to me,” he tried repeating.

“That’s why,” Gaston declared with frustration. “Once, I begged you to let me win back your trust. I said it was my labor. Well, I feel I have succeeded in that! If you were a woman, the pursuit would end with a wedding. I never got the wedding of my dreams, but I always imagined myself in a new suit, something that caught the sunlight of a bright summer’s day, that offset my dark hair. And I imagined my bride with her dark hair loose and wild around her shoulders, her dress so white in the sun it almost seemed silver… Anyway,” Gaston shook himself, coming back to reality. “This is for me, Fabien. Not you, and definitely not Belle. I have been selfless for a long while now. Please let me be selfish this once.”

LeFou was speechless. A part of him was offended by, well, so many things. Gaston wanted him to stand in as the bride in a daydream wedding; Belle’s hair had been the dark hair Gaston was imagining; the silver was meant as a wedding dress; Gaston hadn’t gone more than an hour without being selfish in all the time LeFou had known him. Had LeFou wanted to be angry, he had a good number of reasons to choose from.

LeFou found, though, that he profoundly did not want to be angry. He wanted to be moved. He wanted this to be a romantic and beautiful moment. He cleared his throat. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say any of that. You can start again, only this time leave out all the bride stuff and the selflessness. I’ve heard you give more romantic speeches to your horse.”

Gaston frowned deeply, but he didn’t fight. He nodded, turned around, and then turned back to LeFou.

“Fabien Sylvain Boulanger,” Gaston said, looking impressed at himself for remembering LeFou’s full name, “The church denies us the wedding I have always desired. It is a meager compromise, but instead of a wedding, please allow me to accompany you to a royal ball. You will be a vision in silver, making me the envy of everyone. But most importantly, I will get to gaze into your depthless eyes. They say you never truly know yourself until you see yourself--”

“Enough, enough,” LeFou waved at Gaston to shut him up. “That’s too much. Nevertheless, lovely. I agree to be your silver-robed date to the royal ball.”

“I have a condition,” Gaston said archly, raising one eyebrow.

“Oh?”

“You cannot dance with anyone but me the entire evening. I might die of jealousy to see another so close to you.” Gaston’s eyebrows were working overtime as he played up the romanticism, and LeFou was having increasing trouble keeping a straight face. Maybe the first declaration, with LeFou being a bride, was better. It was mildly insulting, but it had the charm of being entirely frank. This sugar-coated nonsense was a farce.

But LeFou did love a little theater, so he stuck his nose up in the air and did a half-bow. “I’m too good for any of them anyhow,” he said proudly. “Only Monsieur Gaston is good enough for me.”

Gaston’s grin was white and gleaming. “I knew there was a reason I loved you.”

 

“I have a question though,” LeFou said.

“Anything, my dear.”

“How did you get my measurements?”

Gaston’s smile was all teeth. “I’ve long held that you are the soundest sleeper I know. I feel more confident in that assertion than ever.”

*****

Advent in Villeneuve was treated by the townsfolk with the air of a festival. Holly and evergreens were hung on every doorway and most window sills. LeFou did the same to his own cottage. But to Gaston, the evergreen smell was cloying. It reminded him of being cuffed until he dressed for mass, of being dragged to a church, usually not in Villeneuve but in whatever town his father happened to be doing business. His family was never together for Christmas, as Gaston the Elder’s wares seemed to sell well at this time of year. Gaston the Younger understood these wares to be furs and leathers, but later he learned that his father was selling more dubious goods; he was paid to collect debts and would, after killing a broke debtor, sell the unfortunate widow or minor children into houses of ill repute.

Nevertheless, Gaston the Elder was a devout Catholic. He somehow believed that these debtors and by association their entire families had sold their souls to the devil. The Bible was plain that thieves do not gain entrance into Heaven. Gaston the Elder’s job was simply to get the stolen money back in any way possible. If the aggrieved party paid Gaston a cut, that was simply gratitude.

And thus it was that sitting in small-town churches all over the French countryside by his father’s side had taught Thibeault Gaston to distrust the pious and their faith together. It was perfumed dishonesty. He might not have been so aggrieved by his father’s actions if his father had taken pride in them. Instead, the entire thing was thinly veiled under self-delusions and justifications. And that was what Gaston the Younger observed in all the faithful, even from the constable just last month-- they tended to be lying to themselves more than even to others. They believed something about themselves that was plainly untrue.

When he expressed as much to LeFou, LeFou’s bow-tie mouth had stretched in a grimace and LeFou had suggested that Gaston might have felt camaraderie with such souls if he would only engage in a bit of introspection. But Gaston purposely steered himself away from too much introspection. He mistrusted it. Surely, how others treated you was a purer gauge of who you were. And people had treated Gaston the Elder with respect, surely, but also with fear. After all, who did not owe a debt or two?

And yet, during Advent, Gaston had always felt it was important to his image to attend church. He could be forgiven for missing church for hunting or even exploring, but not during Advent. He had hoped to one day marry and be a respectable family man about the town, doing whatever it was respectable and powerful family men did in a small town like this. He had planned to figure it out when he got there. But now those plans were thwarted. They conflicted with his greater desire, and that was to love LeFou for the rest of his life. And now, after his raid on the castle, he doubted any of the townsfolk would want him as a figure of power.

But he still felt drawn to church on Advent Sundays. He wondered if being seen as pious might not still help his chances with the townsfolk.

And yet, there was something else. He had always attended these services with LeFou, mainly because LeFou went where Gaston went, and did what Gaston did, but Gaston couldn’t shake the feeling of it being some kind of tradition. It was the only Christmas tradition they shared, and thus it seemed important.

And that was how, for the several Sundays leading up to Christmas, Gaston and LeFou could be found fidgeting uncomfortably in the back pew of the church while most of the town tried to ignore their presence.

One unexpected aspect of mass in Père Robert’s little parish was that there was a delegation from the castle, including Princess Belle herself. She noticed Gaston and LeFou, but didn’t speak to them. She brought with her a few other ladies, and they all wore expensive dresses and sat and listened quietly and politely and it made Gaston furious. All of it. He knew by instinct that it was for show. Belle wanted to show off, that was plain. But he held his tongue and sat in silence.

After the first such Sunday, LeFou pulled Gaston aside as soon as the mass ended. “You are as taught as a bow string, mon ours. What is troubling you?”

“I just… she… this facade of innocence…”

“Ssh,” LeFou whispered. “Deep breaths. It’s no concern of ours. And her innocence is hardly a facade. What as she done?”

Gaston frowned. “Nothing. That’s probably worse.”

*****

December was about as mundane as any month could be. There were few amusements, no game to hunt, and nothing much to do aside from drink and sing by the fire. In years past, LeFou had spent every single evening of such months at the Tavern, but as the snowy season came, the drifts that covered the distance between LeFou’s house and the Tavern, small though it was, seemed a greater obstacle than ever before. LeFou had once forced Buddy through deep drifts in heavy storms to get to Gaston. Now, there was no need. And their favorite pastime was no longer singing or drinking; it was something that could not be done in public. Gaston’s newest pleasure was being inside of LeFou, and even though it had been over a month since he had learned this trick, he had not yet tired of it. Part of the enjoyment seemed, for Gaston, to be that this was an area in which he brought some expertise. He had bedded many women, and he was figuring out which of those skills were transferable. Judging by how easily and often he made LeFou orgasm, more than a few skills made the transition.

Gaston would start in subtle ways, a hand under the waistband of LeFou’s breeches or on the back of his neck. It was a sign between them of what was about to happen. LeFou didn’t stand on much formality when it came to sex. He was not shy nor did he play coy. He spoke, often and frankly, in bed. He suggested to Gaston where or how to move, and frequently these days Gaston would respond by saying, “Wait, I want to try something--” And it was almost always something spectacular. LeFou felt himself permanently ready for Gaston’s manhood, always a bit stretched and pre-slicked with Gaston’s last orgasm. LeFou truly could not have been happier. Unless, perhaps, it was summer and the air was thick with flowers and sun-shining meadows awaited them in the afternoons. But for December, at the very least, he was as happy as he had ever been since Père Noël had stopped delivering presents to him as a lad. 

*****

At the Christmas Eve mass, Prince Adam came with Princess Belle. They sat in their finery in the front row and sang carols and kneeled and prayed. Gaston went through the same automatic movements of mass that he had known since his childhood, as did LeFou. But he still felt angry that Belle and Adam were there. LeFou had questioned him on it more than once, and he still could not explain why he had these feelings of anger.

He thought perhaps Belle and Adam were coming to undermine his own efforts at befriending townsfolk again. Their presence reminded the town of what Gaston had done, and it was a barrier to his inclusion in the life of a village that had been his own long before it had been Belle’s. He still remembered when her father moved to town with her. She had been a child, yes, but Gaston was born here, and his father and forefathers before him as well. His mother had dragged him to mass weekly as a child, whereas her father had not. He felt usurped and double-crossed.

That was until after the midnight service, when Belle approached him. “Monsieur Gaston?” she said quietly. “Monsieur, eh…--”

Understanding that Belle was searching her memory for LeFou’s scarce-uttered surname, Gaston interrupted. “Boulanger.”

“Ah, yes, Monsieurs. I hope I will see you at tomorrow’s ball?”

Gaston glared at her, but LeFou was faster. “Yes madam,” he said. “We are looking forward to it.” He bowed.

Suddenly Gaston couldn’t take the niceness of it all. “I fought with your father last time I came. Why did you invite me? And why are you talking to me now?”

He wanted to see her angry, to see some sign that beneath the fancy dress she was still human and still the Belle he’d known. Instead she smiled benignly. “Because, Gaston, it seems you have kept your word. No one has anything poor to say about your behavior these past few months, and several praised your hunting skills and necessity to the village. I would like to try and make a new start, if possible. I hope that any townsfolk with continued reservations will see that you and I get along, and that I have invited you to the ball. But it would help matters if you didn’t fight with my father this time.”

This last sentence finally sounded like the Belle he knew-- sarcasm and exasperation.

Adam caught up with them then and said his hellos and goodbyes to both men. Gaston had nothing to say to the prince who had saved him too many times for comfort, so Belle’s plea went unanswered.

On the long walk home, LeFou and Gaston both gripped their great coats tightly around themselves in order to keep out the biting wind. Flurries danced through the air but did not stick on the ground.

“She’s so strange,” Gaston said. “I can’t understand her.”

“You can, you just don’t want to,” LeFou said.

Gaston looked at the smaller man next to him, and was distracted by the white snowflakes sticking in LeFou’s bouffant. He was beautiful. “What?” he asked, unsure what they had been talking about.

“Belle’s trying to forgive you and to trust you. She wants to fix things between you and herself. What’s to understand? I did the same.”

Gaston shook his head. “She has an ulterior motive.”

LeFou negated this with a grunt. “She definitely does not. You want to ascribe one to her because if she is conniving, then you can more easily swallow the things you did to her.”

That stopped Gaston cold in the street. “ _I_ did to _her_? What did I do to her? I offered to love and protect her, to give her a home and a family, and she threw a ball because I fell off a tower.”

LeFou seemed more sad than angry at this response. “The worst part is, I know you actually remember things that way.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

LeFou walked faster. “I’m not having this discussion in the middle of the street.”

*****

LeFou stepped into the cottage, feeling frustration building in him. He went clear across the room to pour himself a cup of water before beginning. He heard Gaston close the door and LeFou turned to see empty confusion plain on Gaston’s face. That made him feel even angrier. He cleared his throat. “You have always been powerful and masculine.”

“Yes, thank you.”

“When I first showed… inclinations… my mother took me aside and warned me of the way men are. She warned me about men like _you_. Men that were so used to having their way that they feel they were owed it.”

“I don’t follow.”

No, of course he didn’t. “She warned me that there were some men I might proposition who would kill me just because I had the nerve to ask the question.”

“That’s not like me at all!”

“No, _that_ isn’t, but for a man to proposition another man is one kind of danger. For a woman to _reject_ a man’s proposition is another kind of danger. But it’s really the same, you see?”

“No.”

“Men who have, shall we say, high self-esteem, like yourself… when someone shows a desire that is at cross-purposes from your own, you become threatened. Not just emotionally threatened. You treat it as though it were a real life-and-death threat. You tried to _kill_ Maurice because he wouldn’t give you his daughter’s hand!”

“But that was Maurice! I didn’t do anything to _Belle_.”

“You tried to kill the man she loves because she had the nerve to love him instead of her.”

“Oh come on, he wasn’t even a man then.”

LeFou chewed his lip. He had never brought this up and wasn’t sure he had ever planned on it, but it needed to be said now. “You threatened to put me in an asylum because I disagreed with you. That’s what I mean, Gaston. You can’t handle it when your closest friend disagrees with you? You know I couldn’t have lasted in an asylum. You _know_ what would have happened. You were willing to _kill_ me for disagreeing with you. You were willing to kill Maurice, and Adam, and me, and everyone who lived in the castle, and who knows who else-- anyone who came between you and your goal. That is dangerous and frightening. You’re exactly the man my mother was warning me about.”

LeFou rather regretted the speech now. Gaston’s face was stony, and LeFou wasn’t sure if yelling would be next or if Gaston would simply storm out. He was in no way prepared for Gaston’s actual reaction. Slowly, tears began to bubble over Gaston’s eyes onto his cheeks. Still, his face was stoic. The silent tears were painful to watch and LeFou felt his heart lurch in his chest. He went to Gaston and wrapped him up in a hug, but rather than calming Gaston, the contact seemed to do the opposite. Great heaving sobs burst from Gaston’s chest. LeFou guided Gaston to the couch. They sat together for a long while. Gaston’s bawling and hiccuping was interspersed with quiet whimpering. LeFou did not speak, but simply held him, rubbing his back. Gaston was such a mess of inner turmoil, all gleaming confidence and fragile ego.

They didn’t speak any more about it that night. Once Gaston’s tears dried, LeFou tenderly guided him to the bedroom and helped him dress for bed. He was asleep moments later.

LeFou didn’t think there would be a final resolution for them here. There was nothing Gaston could do to go back in time, and his defensiveness was a self-defense mechanism to be reckoned with. Anything that ran counter to his own image of himself was summarily thrown out of his mind. This evening of crying might be the next forgotten event in a series of many. But LeFou was suckered in. These moments of clarity and self-doubt showed him most clearly the real Gaston, the one he had fallen in love with years ago.

And LeFou could still remember the realization that he was in love. It had not been when Gaston had saved him or his mother, or when Gaston had taken him off to war. The night after the first battle, LeFou had been wondering what he’d got himself into. Gaston was so confident and unafraid. All his men were. And LeFou’s bowels had turned to water at the first sign of the enemy. Then that night in the tent, Gaston had done this-- he had blubbered like a child, and whimpered that he was terrified, and that he was the reason so many were dead, and he didn’t know what he was doing, and he didn’t know how he was to go on. And then LeFou, dumbfounded, gently put him to bed. In the morning, confident and shining and fearless Gaston was back, but now LeFou knew it was a mask. A beautiful mask, to be sure, but hiding a vast array of feelings that could not be felt in the daylight.

Still, that first night wasn’t the night he’d fallen in love. It was the second night, when Gaston had looked at him clear-eyed and sad and said, “LeFou, how did you get to be so brave? Teach me.”

LeFou had never thought of himself as brave, nor did he think he could even compare to Gaston in that category. He’d been speechless for a while. When he finally answered, he’d said only, “I try not to think too much.”

Gaston had laughed, his rich baritone filling the tent, and suddenly being at war didn’t seem so bad. LeFou realized that if he had any role in the war it was this one-- to make sure Gaston laughed, and ate, and slept, and smiled. His smile! It was radiant. It was LeFou’s sun. And he was definitely in love.

*****

When LeFou woke up on Christmas morning, Gaston was missing. LeFou found him in the stables, grooming the horses. LeFou let him be, but came back out later to check on him and give him food. By mid-day, Magnifique was sporting an elegant four-stranded braid going all the way down his tail. Buddy’s tail was wilder-- assorted braids and twists interwoven with small white roses. LeFou couldn’t even begin to guess where Gaston had found roses.

Gaston looked up from tucking the roses into Buddy’s tail. “What do you think?” he asked.

“It’s… amazing.”

“I thought, since Magnifique is orderly and perfect, he should have an orderly and perfect braid. But Buddy is…”

LeFou laughed. “Disorderly,” he supplied.

But Gaston frowned at this characterization of LeFou’s little horse. “He doesn’t have the obvious charms of Magnifique, no. He’s not like other horses, and no he’s not statuesque, but he has this wild beauty about him-- In all your years riding him, he still hasn’t stopped following his own heart. He’s sweet and gentle, but yet untamed.”

“Are we still talking about the horse?” LeFou asked, feeling a blush creep up his cheek. Gaston was looking at him and not at Buddy.

“That depends, would you let me braid flowers into your hair?”

“Uh, no, not likely.”

“Then yes, we’re still talking about the horse.” Gaston winked and turned back to his work. Over his shoulder he added, “I’m almost done, and then we can have a warm bath. You should heat water.”

LeFou nodded and left Gaston to decorate the horses. He went to the pump and began hauling ice-cold well water into the house one bucketful at a time. Inside, he placed the water in a large cauldron on the fire, and added some logs to wake the flames, though luckily the coals were still hot. Setting the next batch of water in smaller pots near the flame to start them warming, he then went into the bedroom. His new suit was draped across the bed.

He wondered if he and Gaston should talk about what had happened last night, but LeFou dismissed the idea almost at once. Their relationship was not perfect, and there were some discussions that would always be emotional between them. But today, Gaston clearly wanted a perfect day, and LeFou aimed to help deliver one. After all, if they were determined to have forever, that was a lot of time to work out all the kinks.

*****

When the bath water was warm, Gaston insisted LeFou bathe first, as he was less dirty. Gaston took a seat behind the basin and slowly poured warm water into LeFou’s hair while LeFou washed himself. LeFou suddenly realized Gaston was not pouring water any more; Gaston had brought a comb to the bath tub. LeFou sighed as Gaston combed his hair luxuriously, slowly and affectionately.

And then Gaston began to braid.

“Gaston?” LeFou said, “I… it feels like you are braiding my hair…”

“Huh. Truthfully I didn’t notice. I’ve been braiding all day. I was just thinking and my fingers decided for me.”

LeFou was not sure if he believed this explanation. “Do you mind un-doing it?”

“Yes. I do mind. It looks beautiful.” Gaston stood and walked away.

LeFou reached up to undo the braid as he always found them overly aristocratic, but his fingers felt their craftsmanship. Gaston was good with ties, knots. And apparently braids. He’d never had any sisters, so LeFou wondered where he had learned. Maybe his horse? The braid was smooth and even, weaving LeFou’s hair into it all along its length in a way that was tight but did not pull. It lay flush against the back of his neck. Just this once, to please Gaston, he decided to leave it.

LeFou got out of the bath and toweled off while Gaston stripped. LeFou availed himself of the situation to take in the true magnificence of Gaston’s form-- his sharp hip bones, thick thigh muscles, individually defined abdominals.

“Like what you see?” Gaston said with a roguish grin before he held his chin up to strike a pose.

LeFou didn’t answer, but went right on admiring the artwork that was Gaston.

“Stop,” Gaston said tensely, and LeFou saw why-- Gaston’s manhood was waking up. “We don’t have time! Why do we never have time?”

“I recall that we had time two times last night.”

“You’re killing me,” Gaston groaned.

“Me? I didn’t even do anything. I’m wearing a towel! You’re the one with no clothes on. You just got excited by _you_ being naked.”

Gaston turned to their single mirror and admired himself in it, his eyebrow rising. “If that were true, I don’t think I could be blamed.” He outlined his abs with one finger, then seemed to break out of a reverie with a headshake. He turned back to LeFou. “But that’s _not_ what happened and you know it. You were _leering_.”

“I was admiring.”

“Leering.”

“Admiring lasciviously.”

“If that means leering, then yes.”

LeFou laughed. “It does.”

“Then turn around so I can have a bath in peace.”

LeFou, amused, pulled his banyan over himself. “I was actually thinking of making a snack for us, since the meal will be a while. But you have to promise you’re just going to take a bath. Because if _we_ don’t have time, neither do _you_.”

Gaston splashed LeFou playfully. “I promise.” He blew a kiss.

Yes, they had some problems to work out, LeFou thought as he headed for the main room, but anything worth having was worth working for.

When he had finished plating the little meal of roasted chestnuts, pickled peppers, radishes, and cheese, he brought the plate into the bedroom where Gaston was already dressing.

Gaston turned at LeFou’s entrance. “I don’t know how much time we have, but it’s getting dark. We should dress.”

LeFou nodded and popped a chestnut in his mouth before setting out the pieces of his new silver suit. Gaston looked amazing in the blue version. He and Gaston both took bites from their plate as they dressed. Gaston was about to comb his own hair into its usual style, but LeFou’s hand stopped his.

“What?” Gaston asked.

“Leave it down.”

“I never wear it down.”

“And I never wear mine in a braid. Fair’s fair.”

Gaston hesitated, then combed his long hair down into its dark waves. Once he was satisfied with how it looked, Gaston set down his comb. He then reached for a satchel he held close to himself, and he put on his great coat over it. LeFou also put on his coat, and both put on their hats to venture into the winter evening. The mounted their very distinguished-looking horses and followed the lane until it met with the main road.

Many villagers were headed to the same feast and ball as themselves, so they were not alone on the road. In general, LeFou liked positive attention. He adored standing out. Gaston knew this about him as he knew most things about LeFou. This evening, though LeFou felt conspicuous in a bad way. He heard snippets of whispering around him. He wondered whether it was in his imagination or if the villagers were being more nosey than normal.

Gaston leaned over and smiled conspiratorially. “Do you hear everyone talking about what a dashing couple we make?”

LeFou definitely heard people talking, but he doubted that was the subject. Nevertheless, he smiled back at Gaston’s innocence and nodded. He would put the villagers out of his mind tonight. They could talk all they wanted and it didn’t matter to him.

Rounding the last bend in the road before the castle, Gaston paused and reached out, holding Buddy’s reins to pull Buddy to a stop alongside Magnifique. “I have one more thing for you,” he said. He dismounted and beckoned for LeFou to do the same with one finger. He took off his own greatcoat and hat, and then LeFou’s. LeFou shivered in the cold, but did not object. Gaston threw both coats and hats into a nearby tree. LeFou was about to object to this when Gaston said, “You only get one chance to make a first entrance.” He reached into his satchel and pulled out-- LeFou could hardly credit what he was seeing. Was that a bouquet of white roses?

“I’m not carrying a bouquet,” LeFou said.

“Good, because I haven’t got one.” The bundle of roses then separated itself into two distinct shapes. Gaston held up one in each hand. Small roses, the same white ones that were in Buddy’s tail, were stuck within a circle of grape vine. “I made them myself,” Gaston said, like a child showing something to a parent and hoping for approval.

LeFou was speechless. He approached and took one wreath, unsure what to do with it. But Gaston did not let him wonder, as Gaston placed the other wreath on LeFou’s head. It was a crown of white roses.

Gaston looked about as shy as he ever got as he said, “I thought it would look lovely on you, and I didn’t think you’d wear them unless I did.”

LeFou placed the wreath in his own hand atop Gaston’s flowing hair. “You were right,” he nodded. Gaston was right on both counts, really. The crowns were lovely.

They stood there a moment, seeing each other in their shining suits, their strange hair and stranger flower crowns. LeFou thought they might not make the ball after all; he recognized that post-hunt look in Gaston’s eyes. Gaston wanted to tear every scrap of clothes off LeFou and LeFou didn’t have the heart to object.

But Gaston shook his head to clear it and latticed his hands into a mounting lift for LeFou. “We’d better go or we’ll miss the meal.”

LeFou nodded. He took one last longing gaze at his warm coat, being left behind on a tree, and understood that Gaston wanted the showmanship. He wanted the gossip and the rumors and the glitz. He mounted Buddy, and Gaston mounted Magnifique. They rode side by side across the courtyard, both tall and proud. They were not put together like true courtiers in white wigs or lace cuffs; they had an altogether wilder look: Gaston’s flowing mane rippling in the breeze, Buddy’s tail fluttering with tiny roses. LeFou had never felt more like a prince, though.

And damn if the crowd didn’t part for them. It mostly seemed to be to stop and gossip to the people nearby, but whatever the reason, the sea of arriving guests parted as people pulled their horses or carts over to the side of the path. White moonlit statues seemed to follow their procession. At the base of the stairs, they dismounted and a boy took their horses. It was almost a shame that Gaston had done all that grooming for so small a thing, but LeFou was beginning to truly understand. Gaston had wanted a wedding day because he wanted a day that was about himself, and since he would not get it, he would simply steal another’s day by making such a blatant peacock of himself that he had all the attention. Well, he and LeFou. And it was a bit romantic, wasn’t it?

At the base of the steps, Gaston offered his arm, and LeFou took it. They glided through the open front door, LeFou nodding to a frowning Cogsworth. Soon, they were at the entrance to the dining room. There was no formal greeting. They were seated next to each other-- a small and genuine mercy as it was never customary to seat couples together. And before a few minutes had passed, they were tearing into gourmet food so quickly neither had much time to talk.

*****

Gaston was full on heavy foods and eager for some physical activity when he and LeFou wandered, along with the other guests, to the ballroom. It was beautiful; garlands hung from the chandeliers. Silver and gold baubles reflected candlelight into every corner of the ballroom. Gaston nodded in approval. He had guessed it would be this beautiful, a beauty beyond anything he could afford even with the nice sum he had in reserve. It was a beauty LeFou deserved.

Gaston also congratulated himself on his choice of suit for LeFou. The silver had been expensive and was ostentatious, but every candle in the room seemed to lend its light to LeFou, and he glowed like an angel.

When the orchestra finished warming up and started playing a jaunty warm-up dance, Gaston bowed deeply and held out his hand to LeFou. “My angel, would you grant your greatest worshiper this dance?”

LeFou blushed a deep pink and his bow-tie lips drew up in a smile. It was all the thanks Gaston needed for the work he’d done on this night. He took LeFou’s right hand in his left before LeFou could get terrible ideas about leading Gaston. It was true that LeFou was better at waltzing than Gaston, who had never really had the patience for it, but given their differences in height and physique, it seemed obvious to Gaston that he would lead. LeFou did not seem to mind as he wrapped his left arm tightly around Gaston and they moved to the quick waltz.

When the time came to switch partners, Gaston did not pass LeFou on to the next person. The next person was Luc, the town’s doctor, and the idea of that old fat man who had made so light of LeFou’s concussion last month dancing with LeFou as though LeFou was a woman-- it twisted Gaston’s stomach. His unwillingness to let LeFou go resulted in some confusion for the dancers around them, but that was truly no concern of his.

“You are wreaking havoc,” LeFou said, but he was grinning.

“I am merely making sure you fulfil your promise of dancing with no one besides me. After all, I know how eager you are to feel the good doctor’s hands… here.” Gaston moved his hand to LeFou’s rump and was rewarded with the most amazing facial expression, as LeFou’s face took on the glimmer of mock outrage and surprise. Gaston, suppressing a laugh, thought he had never been more in love.  
By the third passing of partners, they had adapted to pretending Gaston and LeFou were not there. Gaston marveled that it took them that long; they seemed experts at ignoring Gaston under normal circumstances.

They danced for about an hour before LeFou begged off for some wine and fresh air. Gaston followed him onto the balcony and helped himself to the Prince’s fine sparkling wine. They stood, taking in gulps of cold air and remembering the evening Gaston had climbed up here. It hadn’t been so long ago.

“Did you see Maurice?” LeFou asked.

“I can’t say that I was looking for him,” Gaston answered. In truth, he did notice that they were seated almost as far from Maurice as was possible during dinner, and other than that he had endeavored not to pay the old man any mind.

“He at least seems to have been talked out of confrontations.”

“One hopes.”

“As have you,” LeFou said with a quirked eyebrow.

Gaston shook his head. “No, tonight I could not be lured into one. None of these people even exist, so outshone are they by your beauty.” He took LeFou’s hand tenderly and stroked it.

LeFou clasped Gaston’s quickly and then said, “Alright, enough fresh air, I’m good for another few dances.”

Gaston swallowed his sparkling wine down in one swift motion and followed LeFou back inside. To his delight and surprise, the orchestra was starting a sprightly folk song while the singer took a rest. Gaston couldn’t be stopped from enjoying a lively dance, and he dragged LeFou to the floor where they kicked, twirled, and clapped in the perfect rhythm of practiced choreography. LeFou was red with exertion and laughter. Gaston and he twirled on each other’s elbows and kicked again. The party around them was in full swing, but Gaston could sense that those nearby were turning their attention to Gaston and LeFou. As superior folk dancers, it was to be expected that the crowd would be in awe of them.

The music grew faster and faster as a challenge to the dancers, and by the end, only Gaston and LeFou were still on their feet, both panting and grinning, twirling and kicking, until the last note sounded. The crowd erupted in applause. Gaston spun LeFou one more time before taking a bow for both of them.

The next song was a piano concerto. Belle and Adam took center stage to start the dance. Belle was in a glimmering red dress that cascaded in ripples like fire, and Adam wore a matching red and white suit. Gaston grudgingly joined in the dance as well, knowing LeFou would enjoy it. Gaston admired LeFou’s content smile, knowing he had put it there. And he _very much_ enjoyed watching LeFou pant from exertion of their previous dance. He wondered if he could make LeFou replicate that panting face, perhaps by...

Gaston’s heart skipped a beat. He had never had that thought before. But in that moment he had been entertaining the idea of… In fact, he surprised himself by actually _wanting_ to… 

He paused, and it took LeFou a moment to notice they were not dancing anymore. “What?” LeFou asked.

Gaston shook his head once, and then dove directly in for a kiss. He knew he was a more than able kisser. Cross-eyed and dazed, LeFou he saw now certainly appeared well-kissed. But LeFou’s lips were not the part of LeFou that Gaston was dreaming of getting his mouth on right now. In this moment, seeing this angel, Gaston wanted to kneel before LeFou.

“Come here,” Gaston whispered, pulling LeFou towards the entryway to the ballroom. LeFou had to run to keep up and was stuttering with confusion. Gaston was a good navigator in the woods, and he could only hope his attempt to memorize the random turnings within the castle would go roughly the same way. He ran along some corridors. He had genuinely no idea where he was when he finally saw an open door. Poking his head in, he saw that is was a modest bedroom with a few high-backed and sparse chairs scattered about. A pile of books rested on one of these. A chandelier hung overhead. It would do.

Gaston pushed LeFou into the room and closed the door. He steered clear of the bed, not sure whose it was, but pulled LeFou close to him and untied LeFou’s breeches. LeFou still seemed to be in shock.

“Gaston I--”

But Gaston did not let him get further, instead yanking down breeches and underdrawers in one smooth movement and pushing LeFou down onto one of the empty chairs.

“I don’t think we should--”

Gaston kneeled in front of LeFou and silenced him with a tilted head and raised eyebrow. Once LeFou was quiet, Gaston answered softly. “I definitely think we should. Now let me, before I lose my nerve.” He took a deep breath and tapped LeFou’s legs apart to better expose LeFou’s manhood.

Gaston stroked LeFou with appreciation, admiring LeFou’s cock. He’s seen it many times before, of course. Even in the years they were friends, and in the war, they had many occasions to change or bathe in the same vicinity. But even in intimacy, he had never had an excuse to really come face to face with a cock before, other than his own in a mirror. The detail! It was like a living, breathing organism. The underside was ribbed with veins, and the foreskin slipped back to reveal a red head with a single wet mouth. It was calling to his own mouth, and he tenderly-- as though he were kissing LeFou and not the head of his cock-- brushed his lips across the slit.

LeFou’s head dropped backwards with a loud moan, and Gaston chuckled to know he had brought about such a reaction. The taste was not bad at all, and in fact barely noticeable. It was more the smell, the smell of LeFou’s groin-- the smell of sweat and sex. There was nothing feminine about the smell, and he found himself achingly hard at the thought of what he wanted to do. And then there was nothing left but to go ahead and do it.

Gaston opened his mouth, imagining taking LeFou’s entire cock inside. In actuality he could only fit the head. LeFou was large, and Gaston realized he had been too ambitious. The head would have to be enough for now-- and it seemed so, as LeFou moaned and grunted, his hips bucking lightly, his head still dropped backwards over the chair.

Gaston ran his tongue in a circle around the head and then prodded just _there_ at the opening, and LeFou made a choking sound.

After that, it was a rush. LeFou leaned forward and gripped Gaston’s loose hair, taking handfuls of it as he slowly tried to get more of himself inside of Gaston’s mouth. And Gaston tried to accommodate, but the more LeFou entered him, the harder Gaston found breathing to be. Gaston hoped LeFou came soon.

As the saying goes, be careful what you wish for. LeFou doubled over and grunted before spilling into Gaston’s mouth, and Gaston immediately found his throat full of LeFou’s seed. He sat back and coughed violently, the salty fluid streaming from his mouth.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” LeFou said, sounding embarrassed.

Gaston shook his head rapidly and used a throw pillow to wipe his face. He sat back on his heels and forced a smile for LeFou, though honestly he hadn’t enjoyed that quite a much as he had expected to.

“It… it does get better,” LeFou stuttered. “With practice.”

Gaston felt his cheeks get warm. It was true that Gaston hadn’t loved it, and he knew he hadn’t been very good at it either, certainly not as good as LeFou. The man could take Gaston’s cock all the way to the back of his throat. Nothing got Gaston’s blood boiling like a little healthy competition, and he did not like knowing LeFou was better than he was. Gaston would simply have to devote himself to practice, as he had with any skill he wished to master.

“I’ll practice more,” Gaston promised without a hint of humor.

LeFou’s soppy smile was a brilliant reward.

“Did you, uh, should I return the favor?” LeFou’s eyebrow rose suggestively.

Gaston might have agreed to a tumble on the bed, had he not looked at the pillow just then. It was not just some throw pillow. It was carefully embroidered with the image of a woman. She was not Belle, but she looked enough like her that there could be no mistake that this was Belle’s mother. Which made this Maurice’s room, most likely. Gaston saw the piles of books with fresh eyes, noticing now the paintings on the wall by the bed. They were paintings of Belle, or of fields and flowers.

“Gaston?” LeFou asked.

 

Gaston held up the pillow, complete with the stain of LeFou’s seed right across Belle’s mother’s face. LeFou gasped.

“I think we had better leave,” Gaston whispered.

“But we can’t-- we can’t just leave the pillow!”

Gaston groaned. “Why not? Don’t be chivalrous now, LeFou!”

LeFou had already stood and was tying his breeches when the door creaked open. Gaston jumped to his feet and hid the pillow behind his back. There was simply no way this could go well. No good lie sprung immediately to Gaston’s mind.

Maurice was brought to a halt upon seeing LeFou and Gaston in his room.

“Maurice!” LeFou said, rushing forward. “How good to see you, and looking so well!”

Gaston cringed to himself, seeing LeFou pandering to give Gaston an out. But it wouldn’t matter. Maurice already hated Gaston. Why make up lies? Why try to flatter Maurice?

Gaston stepped forward and cleared his throat. He put a hand on LeFou’s shoulder, squeezing to silence him. “No, you are too smart to see through flattery and lies,” Gaston said. “Your door was open. We didn’t know it was your room. I was feeling amorous and dragged LeFou away from the ball, and this was the first open door we came upon.” He held out the pillow. “You will want this laundered, I imagine.”

Maurice’s face was a blanket of shock. He didn’t take the pillow, so Gaston set it down gently on the floor. Finally finding his voice, Maurice asked, “Do you think telling me the truth makes up for all the things you’ve done to me and my family?”

Gaston laughed at the suggestion. He threw his arms wide. “Maurice, my man! You already hate me. A little…” he pointed to the pillow, not sure there was a polite word for it, “It can hardly make you hate me more. It can’t compare to what has already happened.”

Maurice didn’t say anything else, so Gaston pushed LeFou ahead of himself and out the door.

That could have been worse,” LeFou said.

Gaston simply chuckled. He stopped walking and turned to LeFou. Gaston looked up then and his eyes became wide as he saw the sprig hanging in the arch. “Look at this!” he said.

LeFou followed Gaston’s gaze. “Is that mistletoe?” he asked.

“Did you know, in England, when you are under mistletoe you are supposed to kiss the person you are standing with?”

LeFou grinned. “Is that right?”

Gaston leaned in for a kiss. He took his time before drawing back to stare into those deep, dark eyes. “What do you say we call it a night and finish the evening at home?”

LeFou smiled up at Gaston. “I think that sounds perfect, my husband.”

Gaston felt warmth spread in his limbs. He had never thought to be called a husband. How did LeFou know it was so important to him? He bent LeFou’s head up and kissed him again, this time with urgency.

LeFou laughed breathlessly. “How many times do the English kiss under this plant?”

Gaston stole one more short kiss. “They say…” his kissed LeFou again, “They say you get…” another kiss “one for each berry…” and a final kiss.

“Hold on, hold on,” LeFou held up a finger. “If that’s the case, I’m going to need a toilet and a snack before we continue this.”

Gaston threw his head back and roared with laughed, then draped his arm around his own husband and steered him towards the stables. Tonight had been better than any summer wedding, and his Fabien was sexier than a thousand Belles in rustling red dresses. He couldn’t wait to get home and prove just exactly that. Again.


	7. January

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A New Year's bar brawl leaves Stanley hurt, LeFou sick, and Gaston under house arrest. Stanley is tended to by a mystery suitor while LeFou is tended to by Gaston. Some brawl violence, hurt/comfort, mentioned of illness, and bottom!Gaston.

The winds howled, ice frosted the corners of the glass, and snow piled up in drifts in the road, but Gaston was not moved. He _would_ be at the Tavern for the ringing in of a new year. He _always_ had been. He was dressed in his finest suit of red. He pulled on his boots to the sound of LeFou’s half-hearted objections. Finally, he stood and faced his adorable companion, placing one hand on each of LeFou’s shoulders and looking LeFou in the eye, before asking--

“What is really troubling you, my love? I know you enjoy the Tavern.”

“Yes, I do. I just don’t enjoy the _cold_. This storm should blow over by tomorrow or the day after. Why don’t we go then? We’re together now. Surely that matters most!” LeFou chucked Gaston gently on the chin to accent his words.

Gaston sighed. “You speak a great truth, LeFou, that _is_ what matters most. But we can also be together _there_.”

LeFou sighed. “It’s the darts, isn’t it?”

Gaston smoothed his hair in the mirror and asked, “What are you talking about?”

“You and Stanley are tied in darts victories this year.”

“We haven’t played darts in months.”

“You’re tied.”

Gaston frowned and turned rapidly. He felt a flare of annoyance. “So what if it’s about the darts? Is it so bad to want to break the tie before a new year?”

“What if Stanley isn’t there?”

“He’ll be there. You said it yourself, we’re tied.” Gaston could almost taste blood at the idea of victory. If LeFou tried to thwart him… well, he’d go regardless. To LeFou he said, “If you want to be an old maid and stay home on New Year’s Eve, be my guest. I have a darts championship to secure.”

“Hey, hey!” LeFou held up his hands in supplication. “Gaston. It’s _me_. I know what it means to you. You didn’t have to pretend. You could have just reminded me about the darts. I’ll get my coat.”

Gaston deflated slightly. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t said something right away. Maybe he didn’t want to admit that tying with Stanley was such an issue. He didn’t even know which bothered him more-- that darts was supposed to be his game, or that LeFou was supposed to be his man. Stanley had already had a go at one of them. Gaston could not let him have the other unchallenged. But he knew how that would sound to LeFou.

“Let’s go,” LeFou said, his great coat tightly wrapped around him and his hat drawn down on his head. Gaston nodded and pulled his hat gingerly over his perfectly-coiffed hair.

“One thing,” LeFou said, turning to him, “I don’t recall you getting this dressed up for darts in the past. It wouldn’t happen to matter to you that I’ve had intercourse with Stanley, would it?”

Gaston took a step backwards as if slapped. “LeFou! Of course not!”

LeFou laughed, nodding, “That’s what I thought.”

Gaston sighed. It was a bit unsettling how easily LeFou could see right through him. Unsettling, but also sweet. They’d spent a lifetime learning each other. Gaston turned LeFou’s face to his and smiled. “Is it so bad to want to prove that you’re in good hands?”

LeFou clasped Gaston’s hand with his own. “No one’s hands are as strong as yours, mon ours.” It was true, too.. Gaston nodded at the plain fact, but LeFou continued. “Yet, as you have noted, darts takes a soft touch. And somehow you have mastered it. Don’t forget that you don’t always have to be strong.”

Gaston brushed his fingertips over LeFou’s knowing grin. He then turned and left the house, LeFou following behind. They took the horses, though it wasn’t far, on account of the weather. The horses didn’t seem to mind the swiftly-falling snow at all; they were happy to be out of the barn for once.

When Gaston and LeFou arrived at the Tavern, Gaston was not surprised to see it full despite the weather. New Year’s Eve at the Tavern was a tradition-- the single men were always there anyway, and the married men were looking for someplace to ring in the new year while their wives lay sleeping at home. There were women about as usual. These were not the respectable kind of ladies, though. This late at night on New Year’s, the only women in the Tavern were those looking to bed a man either to entrap him or for money. All things being equal, this is why Gaston had preferred prostitutes; they had no ulterior motives. But among the familiar and friendly faces were those of quite a few strangers.

Gaston immediately saw Stanley, Tom, and Dick sitting at a table drinking amiably. He made directly for them, while LeFou made for the bar to bring drinks.

“Ah,” Stanley grinned, “I thought we might see you. On account of the game.” Stanley indicated the darts board with a thumb over his shoulder. It was currently in use by said strangers.

“We wouldn’t even be tied if not for the, oh, thank you LeFou,” Gaston said as LeFou dropped a full beer stein in front of him, “If it weren’t for the time I lost in the mid summer and afterwards.”

“It has been an interesting year for you, Gaston,” Tom said.

Gaston turned to LeFou, smiling at the thought of all he had gained this year. LeFou lowered his head in a blush. “Interesting is one way to put it,” Gaston agreed. “This year has been… unparalleled.”

Stanley smiled and raised his own stein. “To Gaston and LeFou!”

Tom grumbled something and Dick said nothing, but they did both raise their steins, all five clanging in a toast.

“We can play as soon as they are done,” Stanley said.

“Who _are_ all these strangers?” LeFou asked.

Tom answered. “It’s a caravan of traders passing through town en route to Paris from the Mediterranean Coast. Sabrina traded with them earlier for some exotic fruit. I don’t know what it is, but it seemed like an orange. Certainly not worth whatever they sold it to her for.”

Gaston didn’t know Tom’s wife, Sabrina, very well. She was older than he, and would never have run in the same circles regardless. Tom once said she’d nearly become a nun but decided she wanted kids badly enough to marry some man for it. Gaston thought Sabrina could have done worse than Tom, but he didn’t think the two of them had ever been in love. Sabrina was in love with being a mother, and Tom was happy to fulfill his part in conceiving children. Other than in the bed, he didn’t seem to spend much time with her. Once, Gaston had seen theirs as a perfect marriage. Tom was free and easy, coming and going as he liked, but respected for having a wife and six kids with a seventh on the way. His army pension paid a good deal of their bills, but otherwise he was a capable carpenter, and with both incomes put together, plus whatever he got from hunting, Tom was not poor.

And yet now Gaston looked at Tom and saw someone who was not in love, and who never would be. If he fell in love it would certainly not be with his wife, and he had seven children and a conscience-- he would never be able to leave his wife. No, what was best for Tom was to live a life without love, and to Gaston that seemed a death sentence. He unwittingly put a hand on LeFou’s thigh and squeezed.

At the touch, LeFou turned to him and they brushed lips. It was only for a moment, but it was the wrong moment. Suddenly, a big, burly man from the caravan was approaching them, murder in his eyes. Gaston knew the look too well, having seen it in the mirror more than once. He stood. Everyone at the table stood.

At this, the rest of the caravan noticed something was happening, and they were coming over to help their friend. They were all strapping lads, most younger than Gaston by some years, and drunk as a skunk to a man. He nodded to himself, confident that he had this. It seemed darts was not to be their only entertainment tonight.

“You!” the burly man addressed LeFou. Of course he did. The kiss had been between two people, but he’d be insane to approach Gaston directly.

“Uh, um,” LeFou said eloquently.

“You like to suck cock?” the brute asked, his face contorted with an ugly sneer. Gaston knew by instinct what would happen next. He was already poised to block a punch in such a way as to break the man’s arm. Simple, fast. Gaston also saw the look of wild fear in LeFou’s eyes and he hated it. Why didn’t LeFou understand that Gaston would protect him? What reason did he have to be afraid?

But LeFou was apparently not the only one who was afraid. In an instant, Stanley was up and grinning. “He’s off the market, but I’ll suck your cock for a livre.” His mannerisms shifted into a boisterous display of stereotypes, an outward extravagance that Gaston knew was not the real Stanley. The young man was too shy for such a thing. It was meant as a diversion. It was meant to protect LeFou.

But as the burly man pivoted to Stanley, Gaston found himself no longer in the correct position to block a blow. The man’s ham-hock fist crashed into Stanley’s eye, and he flew backwards.

Gaston was fast, though, and the one blow was the only one the man landed. In a moment, Gaston, Dick, and Tom had taken on the half dozen men in the caravan gang, beating them all unconscious except for the burly one. That one, Gaston kept conscious. The man’s vision was unfocused, but his screams were clear as crystal as Gaston broke first one arm, then the other, twisting both backwards until bone broke skin. “Let’s see if you ever throw another punch,” Gaston growled, before bashing the man’s head into the floor and watching him slip into sleep.

Gaston turned, and the sight that met his eyes made his heart stutter in his chest. LeFou was looking at him, at _him_ , with fear in his eyes. “LeFou--” he started, only now exiting the emotionless haze of revenge into the clear world-- a Tavern in France-- with dozens of people staring at him.

LeFou shook his head and turned back to Stanley. He was pressing a cold cloth to Stanley’s face and talking quietly to him. He helped him to his feet, and in a moment they had left the Tavern entirely.

Gaston stared blankly at Tom and Dick. Dick shrugged and Tom said someone was already riding for the castle. Gaston nodded and stumbled out into the night air. Ahead, he saw LeFou cradling Stanley, both astride Buddy, fighting the storm.

Gaston did not think he would see LeFou again tonight.

*****

LeFou had been to war. He knew how to help a wounded man, and the punch Stanley had caught with his face was a much more minor injury than many he’d seen. He pulled Stanley away from the fray and pressed a wet cloth to his eye to keep it cool, checking to make sure Stanley was conscious through it all.

He heard the fighting, imagining Gaston alone fighting off a handful of homicidal goons. He heard the crack of bones and his head snapped up, sickening images of Gaston’s broken body-- images that had plagued him when he’d thought Gaston dead-- rising to the surface of his mind unbidden. His eyes caught Gaston’s, though, and LeFou felt his stomach relax. Gaston had won. _Of course_ he had.

“Stanley,” LeFou clucked. “Why on Earth did you do that?”

“Mon ami, I did not want to see a bruise on your lovely face,” Stanley slurred slightly.

LeFou rolled his eyes. “We had it under control.”

“What do you mean?”

“The man was going to throw a punch at me.”

“I know, that’s why--”

“Stanley,” LeFou sighed. “Gaston had already shifted his weight to his back foot. He would have intercepted it.”

“He might have missed,” Stanley said, though he sounded unconvinced.

LeFou only sighed. “Alright, let’s get you out on my horse. You need to be watched for a bit. I’ll take you to our house tonight.”

“No, no,” Stanley whispered. “Please. I want to go home.”

“You shouldn’t be alone.”

“I won’t be.”

LeFou hesitated, wondering who was waiting for Stanley at home. “Oh,” nodding, LeFou helped Stanley to his feet and half-carried him outside. It took a while (and quite a bit of help from Stanley himself) before LeFou was finally able to lift Stanley onto Buddy. LeFou also covered Stanley with his own great coat. He awkwardly clambered up being Stanley, grateful that his horse was not very tall. All the while, the wind howled and the snow fell and LeFou shivered. He spurred Buddy along the drifts. Stanley’s house eventually appeared through the whiteness, a little apartment between two stores. looked lovely in the storm, complete with a curl of smoke lifting from the chimney. LeFou was eager for a chance to sit by that fire. Stanley groaned and slumped down off of Buddy. LeFou approached the door but Stanley stopped him.

“He is not ready,” Stanley whispered.

“Ready for what?” LeFou asked around chattering teeth.

“Please. He does not want his parents to know that he is… like us. Go home, LeFou.”

LeFou _did_ understand. Whoever was inside, that man was still living with the secret. He hesitated to admit that it actually physically hurt to think of someone else caring for Stanley. This was ridiculous! Surely Stanley deserved happiness, the same as LeFou had found with Gaston.

Gaston! It was possible he had been injured in the fight, too. Regardless, his bear of a man was hot as a furnace even when there wasn’t a fire going, and the emotions of the evening were catching up to LeFou and he wanted very much to be home. He nodded and climbed awkwardly onto Buddy, trying as best as he could to encourage the horse towards home amid the darkness and the snow.

*****

Gaston was pacing in front of the door. He wasn’t sure what to expect next. Would Prince Adam come to haul him away? Would LeFou come to yell at him? He also fretted over the storm outside, hoping LeFou was in out of the snow, wherever he was. So when the door creaked open and LeFou staggered inside, Gaston was right there and ready to catch him. LeFou’s lips were blue at the edges, and his fingers were white, and he chattered so hard he couldn’t talk. He clutched at Gaston and pointed back to Buddy, still standing in the lane.

Gaston understood. He pulled LeFou towards the fire and stripped off his shoes and stockings as quickly as he could. He poured cognac into a pot to heat up. Finally, Gaston pulled on his own greatcoat. He ducked his head against the growing wind and led Buddy back to the stable. He broke the ice on the horses’ water pails and he put blankets over both. The way the wind was kicking up, this was likely to be a bigger storm than Gaston had suspected. If they had stayed the evening at the Tavern, they would have been committed to staying the morning and part of tomorrow as well.

While he worked, Gaston wondered what his next step was. LeFou didn’t _seem_ angry with him. Perhaps the cold had frozen his ire. Or maybe LeFou hadn’t seen what had happened in the Tavern. He’d been pretty intent on Stanley, after all.

Gaston was momentarily as still as the wintery landscape. That must be it. LeFou didn’t know! And suddenly options lay before Gaston. He had the happy thought that LeFou would never have to know of Gaston’s brutality that night. His joy was short-lived; he soon realized that everyone else in the town knew, and eventually LeFou would hear about it. If he found out that way, LeFou’s anger would be magnified.

Plus there was in Gaston the sense that LeFou had been through enough and deserved the truth. His stomach flipped over when he thought that LeFou might leave him because of this, knowing this monster was still in him. Gaston _was_ still a monster, as much as he tried to dress himself up with fancy suits. One day LeFou would surely give up on him. That day might be today.

And yet, there really was no other choice. LeFou would find out eventually, and only a coward would let him find out from gossip. Thus it was with a heavy heart that Gaston returned back to the warm of the cottage to face the consequences of his actions.

When he got inside, though, he found LeFou had fallen sound asleep on the couch. His fingers and toes looked puffy and pink, but there was no permanent harm. Gaston knew first hand the depth of exhaustion that came over a man after he’s been brought back from the edge of hypothermia, and he didn’t think LeFou would be waking again tonight, especially not as soundly as he slept. Tomorrow, then. He would speak to LeFou tomorrow. Tonight, he would cherish this sleeping angel while he was still in Gaston’s midst.

Gaston carried LeFou to their featherbed, undressed him tenderly, and put LeFou’s favorite banyan over him. He put blankets and furs on top. Only then did he retire to the sitting area of the main room to enjoy the warm cognac himself. When sleep came to him, he surrendered eagerly, wrapped gently around LeFou.

When Gaston next woke, it was still very dark, but he was immediately aware of the heat emanating off of LeFou’s body. He sat bolt upright and tore off the blankets, but that only caused LeFou to begin to shiver in his sleep. Gaston cursed. He moved in long strides lit only by moonlight, hurrying to the kitchen to soak a rag in the water basin. He layed it on LeFou’s head, where it did little dissipate the heat. Gaston sighed. He had seen fevers in the army. He had seen small fevers that lasted a day, and long ones that killed. He mistrusted them greatly. He got up again and pulled on his books and greatcoat. Grabbing an oilcloth from near the back door, he stepped outside and began scooping snow into it. He was relieved to see snow was no longer falling from the sky, and by the morning he should be able to get Luc to their cottage. Back inside, he wrapped the snow-packed oilcloth in a rag and put it at LeFou’s feet. He then added some icicles to the water basin and brought that into the bedroom. For the remainder of the night, Gaston sat in a chair at LeFou’s side, keeping a cool rag pressed to LeFou’s forehead, or neck, wherever seemed hottest.

LeFou was still sound asleep at sunrise. Gaston stoked the fires in both rooms and boiled water. He added a heap of dried thyme. He was about to wake LeFou and force him to drink it when a knock hammered at the door.

Gaston growled. He had been expecting this, but now was not a good time. He wanted to get this tincture into LeFou. He threw open the door and was unsurprised to see Dick standing with Prince Adam. Gaston wondered why Prince Adam had taken to dragging one of Gaston’s friends along every time he visited Gaston. Maybe the prince hoped it would keep Gaston calm.

“Go on, tell me my punishment,” Gaston said sharply before turning on his heel and heading straight to the bedroom.

“I wanted to let you know we apprehended the men and questioned them,” the Prince said.

“ _You_ apprehended them?”

“You know that’s what I’m here to speak to you about.”

Gaston grunted and sat in his chair. He ran a calloused hand up the soft skin of LeFou’s arm, pleased to feel that it was cool beneath his touch. “LeFou,” he whispered, and shook gently. He was not especially surprised when nothing happened.

“What’s wrong with him?” Dick asked.

It was the Prince who answered, “He has a fever?”

“He took Stanley home last night,” Gaston said over his shoulder. “He nearly froze to death doing it, and now he’s sick.” Fear and anger warred within Gaston’s heart, and he consciously let anger win, since it was the more familiar of the two emotions. “Hey,” he shook LeFou hard, “Wake the fuck up, you idiot, and drink this or I’ll pour it down your throat.”

Mercifully, LeFou cracked open an eye. “Gaston?” he asked.

“Drink,” Gaston demanded. “And I swear to God above, the next time, I’ll let them punch you, because I think Stanley got the better end of last night’s bargain.”

“I don’t know,” the Prince mused. “There was one trader in particular who is calling for blood this morning.”

Gaston gestured with his head and stood, indicating that the Prince and Dick should follow him back to the main room. He closed the door to the bedro  
om.  
“He doesn’t know,” Prince Adam said. It wasn’t a question, but a disappointment-laden remark.

“Before you judge me, I do plan to tell him, but I was a little concerned with keeping him _alive_ first.”

Prince Adam nodded and raised his arms, indicating that he was going to let the matter drop. “Nevertheless, I’m afraid such vigilante justice needs to have consequences. Your friend here was at the Tavern and swears that what was done was done in self defense.”

Gaston’s eyes met Dick’s, and in that moment Gaston knew that Dick had bent the truth for him. The fight had been over. There was no self defense in hurting someone you had already brought to the ground. Gaston saw no need to contradict his friend.

“Yet our captor swears he had already surrendered when you grievously wounded him.”

“There were many other witnesses,” Gaston said. “What do they say?” He was genuinely curious.

“It’s early and the snow is deep. I haven’t exactly been running around town asking for accounts of the fight. I did see your friend Stanley, though. He had quite a purple eye.”

Gaston nodded. “I didn’t sleep last night and I was drunk besides.” One truth, one lie. “I’m afraid I don’t remember much other than the man punching Stanley, and then a good old-fashioned bar brawl.” Gaston could lean on the ‘drunk’ defense to explain his lie if the townsfolk wouldn’t cover for him, and Dick could use the same excuse. It was common enough after a bar brawl that half the participants didn’t remember much from it. This was the reason they rarely resulted in long-term grudges.

“Well… I was going to ask you to be a guest at the castle for a fortnight as punishment…”  
Gaston stood taller, imagining how lovely it would be to break the _prince’s_ arms.

“... but under the circumstances, I think a fortnight of house arrest is a better solution. I’m not going to post a guard or anything since I haven’t got one, but please, _please_ prove yourself trustworthy just this once and stay here. I’d hate to have to throw you in a dungeon.”

Gaston nodded, deflating in relief. “The merchants?” he asked.

“Banished, to a man. Well, as soon as the doctor is done splinting their leader. I will tell the doctor to come hither when he is finished, shall I?”

Gaston didn’t say anything. Prince Adam looked to Dick, then Gaston, then bid them farewell. Only when the prince left did Gaston realize he’d been holding his breath. He let it out in a heavy sigh.

“Is he gonna be alright?” Dick asked.

Gaston forced a smile. “Of course! I have helped men through worse fevers than this. Why, when I was a Captain in the eighth regiment, we hardly went a week without someone succumbing to a fever. Not myself, of course. I have a superior constitution… and,” he sighed, “Enough wits to know not to run around outside in a snow storm.”

Dick laughed. “Stanley was mighty grateful, though.”

“Yes,” Gaston muttered through slanted eyes. “I’m sure he was.”

“Now, don’t be jealous.”

“I’m not.”

Dick laughed again, but this time Gaston felt annoyed at the sound. “What are you still doing here? Don’t you have somewhere else to go?”

Dick took a step back and held up his hands. “Remember, I lied for you, Gaston.”

“Well, I didn’t ask you to. And I don’t think he bought it anyway.”

“Try and get some rest,” Dick said, and he left in a bit of a huff.

*****

By the following day, LeFou was awake for longer periods, though never more than needed to take care of necessities-- some broth, the bedpan, a change from sweaty clothes to dry ones. The fever always returned between these moments. Gaston could not imagine that he would have enjoyed playing nursemaid to anyone else, but when Luc dropped by to see to LeFou, Gaston stubbornly insisted on doing everything himself. The truth was that he was afraid. Each time LeFou dropped back into a feverish sleep, Gaston felt panic grip his chest. He was not used to this intense emotion, and worse, his utter inability to do anything with it. In the war, when he was afraid, he would exercise or train, or make his men do the same. He always ended feeling excited and exhilarated. But no amount of lifting iron cauldrons could ease this fear, and he did try. He was after all under house arrest so he would need to find a good way to maintain his physique in the weeks to come, and the iron cauldrons and pans in various sizes worked surprisingly well.

The only thing that made Gaston feel better was taking care of LeFou. When his sweet man would wake for a period of lucidity, Gaston always had something to drink ready, a clean bedpan, a clean banyan or tunic, or clean sheets. LeFou’s large brown eyes would speak volumes in those moments-- surprise, tenderness, gratefulness. None of it was worth a sous to Gaston. He was doing this out of pure selfishness. The thought that LeFou could _die_ and he could do nothing about it drove him to the brink of madness, so he’d determined he _would_ do something. Anything. Everything.

Luc visited daily, and was visibly impressed with Gaston’s care of LeFou. He also brought groceries on the second day, courtesy of Prince Adam. Gaston had a moment to envision pitching the food out into the snow, but then he saw what Luc brought: Neufchâtel, pissaladière piled high with anchovies, fresh broccoli and cauliflower despite the season, grain for the horses, and two oranges. Oranges! Gaston could not wait to surprise LeFou with pissaladière and oranges once he was well enough to eat. He still _imagined_ pitching the food into the snow, but when he saw the oranges he knew he never would.

By the third day, LeFou was conscious through the fever periods. He held Gaston’s hand and asked Gaston to tell stories. Gaston leaned against his old favorites-- war stories-- even though LeFou knew them all.

It had now been three days since the fight at the Tavern, and Gaston knew that he had to bring up what had happened there. But LeFou deserved peace and rest, so he could not bring himself to do it. As they moved into the fourth and fifth days, LeFou was walking to the commode and sitting on the couch for short spells, and Gaston knew he absolutely _must_ bring it up. On the fourth day, Luc brought more groceries from the Prince. This time, Gaston did not scoff at them. After all, it was the Prince's fault he couldn't buy food for himself, so it was clearly the prince's job to provide, right? Also, that orange had been exceptional, and LeFou had grinned like a child to see it.

On the sixth day, LeFou was still visibly fatigued. He was pale and didn’t move much or show his usual level of animation, but his appetite was back, and Gaston harbored no fear at all for his life. Instead, Gaston’s entire body vibrated with anxiety because he knew, simply _knew_ , that he had waited too long to speak to LeFou about the brawl. Now it would seem he’d been hiding something. And any day now, LeFou would plan to leave the house. He was already talking about checking on Stanley when he was better. And what then? Would Gaston make up excuses to stay behind? How long could he do that? And what about when LeFou found out the truth?

That evening, they were eating the newest array of food dropped off by Prince Adam-- milk, roast beef, the amazing pissaladière, bread, and apples. LeFou, more himself than he’d been in days, chuckled and shook his head. “You and Prince Adam must be good friends now if he’s having this food delivered here,” he said around a mouthful of pissaladière.

Gaston set down his apple, the familiar guilt sitting in the pit of his stomach. He steeled his nerves and spit it out. “He’s sending food because I’m under house arrest and you were too sick to get groceries.”

LeFou stopped chewing and stared at him. Gaston saw the storm clouds descend in LeFou’s eyes. He swallowed the pissaladière without chewing it enough and gagged on it. He drank a deep draught of water, then asked, “What did you do this time?” There was no humor in his voice.

“It was the fight,” Gaston said, throwing up his arms in frustration. “Things got out of hand.”

“You didn’t start that, though.”

“No, but I finished it.”

“I dare say those goons needed the lesson. Wait…” LeFou’s brow lowered and he whispered, “Did you _kill_ them?”

“Hardly!” Gaston scoffed. But he couldn’t keep up the pretense of imperviousness forever. “I may have… broken a few arms.”

LeFou exhaled sharply. “That’s all? I heard bones breaking. I was so afraid it was yours. You were nearly fighting them single-handedly.”

“I broke two arms.”

“That’s certainly better than _a few_.”

“On the same man.”

“Ouch! He wasn’t a duke or something, was he? Is that why you’re under house arrest?”

“Uh, no.” Gaston rubbed his forehead. There was really nothing to do but to speak the truth. “The fight was over, LeFou. He was on his knees. No one was brawling. I just reached over and…” he sighed. “I was just _so angry_. I didn’t just break them. I made sure I saw the bones come through.”

LeFou was staring blankly across the table now, and Gaston told himself that he deserved whatever came next. LeFou would kick him out, call him names… He deserved no less.

LeFou set down his fork. He cleared his throat and adjusted his hair. He looked back over and his eyes met Gaston’s. Gaston forced himself not to look away, not to make a joke, not to pretend it was the way fights were won. He wanted to do all these things. To wave his arms about how the Prince was making a big deal out of nothing. It was infinitely harder to let LeFou look into his eyes-- to let himself be _seen_. He felt naked and worthless under the gaze.

Then LeFou’s blank expression melted into gentle pity. Not better, but at least different. He bit his lip and tilted his head. “Two weeks?” he confirmed.

“Uh…” Gaston’s throat as too tight and he had to clear it before answering, “Yes.”

“Okay,” LeFou said, nodding. “Okay. We’ve just over a week left. Here’s what we’re going to do. You, my dearest Gaston, have _got_ to get a hold on your temper. There’s a time and a place for anger, and I’m sure that was it, but you need to know where the line is.”

“I _know_ where the line is. I’m just powerless to stop myself from crossing it.”

“That,” LeFou sighed, “Is a lie.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes it is! I’ve seen you. Remember that man in Nice? You nearly punched his skull in. But you stopped.”

“For the same reason I stopped at the Tavern. I saw you watching me. I thought you saw--”

LeFou shook his head. “If you don’t think you’re more powerful than your emotions, you never will be. You’re _Gaston_ , mon ours. You’re more powerful than anybody I’ve ever seen. You even beat the Prince when he was a beast-- not that I’m condoning that, mind you. Of course you can control your anger. If anyone ever could, it’s you.”

Gaston felt a little hope creep into his heart. He sat up straighter. “You’re right, LeFou, as usual. I must learn to be stronger than anger, that’s all. Teach me.”

“Me?” LeFou squeaked in that endearing rabbit-like way of his.

“Time and again, _you_ have brought me back from my anger. _You_ know what to say and do. Teach me to know what to say and do.”

“Oh, it’s simple,” LeFou said with a smile. “You love me, right?”

Gaston smiled beatifically. “Almost as much as a love myself.”

LeFou grimaced but barreled ahead. “So here’s how you’re going to control your anger. Just think of one thing.”

“One thing?”

“Yes, my behind.”

“I love thinking of your derriere, LeFou, I do, but I don’t know how that will help.”

“Because if you do something like that again, my derriere is the last thing you’ll see of me as I walk away.” He smiled sharply.

Gaston’s smile sank off his face. He felt leaden once more. “That was cruel.”

“Not as cruel as what you did to that poor man in the Tavern.”

“Poor man? He was about to _hit_ you.”

LeFou waved this off. “I saw you shift your weight. I wasn’t worried. And then _Stanley…_ ” LeFou sighed.

“Yes, let’s talk about Stanley,” Gaston said, eager to lay blame on someone else’s feet for once. “I understand why you took him home in the storm. But why did he send you back out in it? You nearly froze to death! You caught a fever. I feel like…” Gaston was about to say he felt like he could throttle Stanley, but he remembered LeFou… and his derriere. “I feel very angry about it,” he said in a stilted voice.

LeFou smiled, clearly noticing Gaston’s redirection and approving. “Very good,” he nodded. “Also, don’t blame Stanley. He had company.”

Gaston hated himself for the way he leaned forward, waiting for more information like a gossiping housewife. He only just stopped himself from asking who.

“Oh no,” LeFou said, hearing his unasked question. “Besides, I don’t know. Stanley asked me not to come in.”

Gaston frowned. He understood the impulse, but under the circumstances it seemed a dire mistake.

“Besides,” LeFou said, sounding tired, “I didn’t want to stay. I was still afraid you might be hurt. I wanted to come home. Maybe I really _am_ a fool,” he slumped forward.

Gaston stood. “That’s it, you are exhausted. To bed. I won’t have you getting sick again.”

LeFou looked up at Gaston and smiled sleepily. “Gaston?” he whispered.

“What?” Gaston said more sharply than he meant to-- he was eager to get LeFou into bed.

“I _do_ love you. Don’t think I haven’t been aware enough to notice all the things you’ve done for me this week.”

Gaston averted his gaze, remembering messy bedpans and sleepless nights of making tea and begging a drowsy LeFou to drink it. He did not want to admit that none of it had bothered him half as much as the feelings of uselessness and fear that had become his companions over the past week. He shook his head. “Go to bed, LeFou. I won’t be happy if I have to do it all over again because you’re too stubborn to know what’s best for you.”

LeFou rose, kissed Gaston’s cheek gently, and obeyed without further objection.

*****

By the second week, LeFou really was much improved. Luc didn’t have to come any more, but Stanley, face still slightly yellow and purple, took over bringing the food. He apologized nearly twenty times for turning LeFou away during the storm, and each time, Gaston felt more of an ass for blaming the boy. Sometimes it was easy to forget how young Stanley was. He was ten years their junior. He had been in school when Gaston and LeFou were fighting for France. He had never seen the cruelty of a frostbite that rotted the parts off living men, or felt the deep sense of surrender that came at the brink of death to the cold. Maybe he knew _of_ them, but Gaston and LeFou had seen these happen to men. To _friends_. They were real, and Gaston knew better than anyone that their whole sophisticated life was lived on the balance of a blade that could easily cut. They were, all of them, one cold night or one tainted drink or one scared horse away from death. Stanley was grown and had been on his own for a decade. He had been part of local militia, but he had not seen war, not seen frostbite, and Gaston felt like a heel for blaming Stanley for LeFou’s sickness. Gaston knew Stanley. After all, the whole mess was because Stanley had taken a punch meant for LeFou. Stanley would never knowingly hurt LeFou or cause harm to come to him. So Gaston let it go, and even made Stanley take the last two oranges.

“No, I couldn’t,” Stanley argued, handing them back.

“You can,” Gaston insisted. “We’ve each had two already this fortnight. I ought to get arrested more often.”

“Well, I’m only one person, I don’t need both.” Stanley tried to press one of them back at Gaston.

Gaston tilted his head and pushed the orange back to Stanley. “The way I hear it, you have found someone with whom to share them,” Gaston said. “So stop standing here fighting about fruit and go share these.”

Stanley thanked Gaston at least a half dozen times before leaving.

Once Stanley was gone, Gaston turned to LeFou, eyebrows up and ready to laugh at Stanley’s earnestness, but he was brought up short by the look of absolute eye-shimmering admiration LeFou was sending his way.

“I thought you’d be angry with him,” LeFou whispered. “When he first came this week. But instead…”

Gaston shrugged.

“You’re the best,” LeFou said with a dreamy sigh.

Gaston had not given Stanley the oranges to win favor with LeFou, but it was not a terrible perk.

*****

“Are you feeling fully well now?” Gaston asked after they had cleared away dinner on the last night of Gaston’s home imprisonment.

“Yes, very,” LeFou answered.

“Well enough for…” Gaston tilted his head.

“For?”

Gaston approached him and chastely touched their lips together.

“Yes, very,” LeFou repeated breathlessly.

“How about for this?” Gaston hooked fingers under LeFou’s waistband.

“Hmmm,” LeFou hummed, and let himself be pressed towards the sitting area of the small cottage. Gaston pushed him back into the red velour armchair. Many years ago it had belonged to LeFou’s father, but the night LeFou’s father left his life, Gaston had entered it, and now the chair was Gaston’s.

Gaston’s large hands worked the tie on LeFou’s breeches and in moments was pulling them to LeFou’s knees.

“Are you… I haven’t bathed in a while,” LeFou warned self-consciously.

Gaston laughed, a deep rumble that came from everywhere all at once. “I haven’t left your side for a fortnight, LeFou. You don’t have to remind me of how you have and haven’t spent that time.”

LeFou forced himself to let his self-consciousness go, leaning back against the chair, as his manhood slid into Gaston’s mouth. Gaston was never as careful about his teeth as the other men LeFou had been with, but in truth, LeFou was grateful for that. It reminded him that this was _Gaston_ , who had never been with another man, who loved to bite in play and sex. LeFou hissed each time Gaston’s sharp eye-teeth would brush his sensitive skin, and Gaston seemed to love the sound.

After a few minutes, though, Gaston stilled. He pulled off LeFou with a wet noise, and LeFou opened his eyes to wonder what had happened. Gaston was just sitting there, looking up at him.

“What?” LeFou asked.

“I want you so badly. But as you said… I know you haven’t had a chance to bathe…”

LeFou frowned. He remembered only too well some of the incidents of this past week. He blushed to think of Gaston seeing him like that, of Gaston having to clean up after him. At the time, he had not felt shame, only misery and illness. But in retrospect… “Yes, I don’t think that is a good idea,” he grimaced.

“Then I suppose it is time for a new good idea,” Gaston said, eyebrows up.

“This is good,” LeFou said. “Or perhaps you’d like to switch places and I--”

Gaston pressed a finger to LeFou’s lips. “Show me how it feels for you.”

LeFou nodded, understanding. He stood to vacate the chair for Gaston. Gaston had been too kind to him for two weeks, and honestly deserved a little selfishness.

But Gaston’s face was blank with confusion.

“Sit,” LeFou said. “I will pay you back for all your care.”

A shadow passed over Gaston’s face. “I don’t require _payment_ ,” he said.

“I just mean, you have been so selfless--”

“Dammit,” Gaston snapped. “I wasn’t selfless. I need you, LeFou, and I need you healthy. And this...” his hands flew out in frustration. “I was asking you to take me. The way I usually do you. You know.”

“Huh?”

“Penetration,” Gaston whispered, as though someone might overhear.

“Oh!” LeFou’s eyebrows tried to meet his hairline. He had not thought Gaston would _ever_ want such a thing, though he wondered why he thought so. Gaston just seemed to like control so much, but LeFou also knew from experience that being penetrated did not make you controlled. He had slept with more than one man in the Army who loved to keep the control and also wanted to feel a man inside himself.

“Is that… does that not interest you, my dearest?” Gaston asked, his face clouded with concern all of a sudden.

“No, no, it’s… it does. I just didn’t think it would interest _you_.”

“I’m not afraid,” Gaston said, apropos of nothing, and more than likely because he _was_ afraid.

“Gaston, you are not afraid of anything. A little pain wouldn’t put you off.”

“Pain?”

LeFou laughed. “No, mon ours, I will make sure it doesn’t hurt. Come.”

He pulled Gaston to their bedroom, because if you had a featherbed, why not make use of it? But once there, on familiar turf, Gaston did what Gaston did best and took command. He stopped LeFou’s hands as LeFou finished taking off his own clothes. “Slower,” Gaston said. “I want to get a good long look at your heavy manhood.”

LeFou gulped. He did as Gaston asked and undressed slowly. His cock was still partly aroused from Gaston’s earlier ministrations.

“My God, LeFou,” Gaston whispered. “How are you hung like a horse? Such a slight man, and so much between your legs.”

LeFou swallowed. He wasn’t sure he was as large as Gaston continually pointed out. Perhaps it was a perspective issue-- on a shorter person, the same cock might look longer? He’d never measured. But it didn’t matter. What mattered was the way Gaston was watching his cock-- _hungrily_. Oh God.

LeFou noticed Gaston’s hands tremble as he took off his own clothes, and Gaston’s cock was half-hard as well. Both naked, they closed the distance by instinct, and kissed deeply, before Gaston unceremoniously pushed LeFou onto the bed.

“You’ll have to tell me what to do,” Gaston said, his voice rough.

“Lie down and turn over,” LeFou said.

LeFou sat next to Gaston on the featherbed, rubbing Gaston’s broad shoulder muscles. Gaston purred deep in his chest. LeFou knew how Gaston loved to have his muscles tended to. Within minutes, LeFou moved to sit astride Gaston, directing his ministrations slowly lower. Gaston was putty in his hands. LeFou spent extra time around the low back muscles that he knew occasionally troubled Gaston, making sure they were painless and lax. Then he descended to the gluteal muscles. These were hard, round, _perfect_.

Working that hard buttocks took time and energy, but soon LeFou could tell that Gaston’s body was thoroughly relaxed. LeFou took this moment to leave the bed and quietly retrieve their little tub of lard. He returned to the bed and greased his hands before gently slipped his fingers between Gaston’s cheeks. Gaston didn’t even seem to notice. Was he asleep? LeFou continued ministrations, working muscles, and he knew then that Gaston was awake because damn if he didn’t lift his ass towards LeFou’s hands when LeFou withdrew them a bit. Yes, this was going to go well.

Next, LeFou let his fingers breeze gently across Gaston’s hole. Gaston gasped at this and bucked his hips slightly, and LeFou smiled. He took a moment to bathe his hand in the lavender-scented lube, using up much of their remaining supply. With just one finger, he entered Gaston.

Gaston made a noise and jerked, and it was not a noise of lust.

“Hush,” LeFou whispered. “It’s just a muscle. Let me tend it.”

Slowly, silently, Gaston relaxed enough that LeFou could slip one finger in. He took his time, stretching and massaging, until truly even these internal rings of muscle were soft and flexible. He added a second finger, and Gaston moaned. LeFou used the second finger to massage further, opening up the passage. He then reached in and--

Gaston’s hips jerked and he whispered a curse, and LeFou grinned.

“My God, do that again,” Gaston whined.

LeFou obliged, feeling the soft and springy area inside of Gaston that made his bear of a man melt. Twice more, he got gasps from the hunter, before he stopped.

“More,” Gaston groaned.

“Soon,” LeFou said. He slipped a third finger into Gaston, and Gaston was completely open for it, pushing back against his hand in desperate search of that sensation he desired. That was how LeFou knew he was ready, but ready was not enough.

“Gaston?” LeFou said, purposely making himself sound unsure. Gaston liked to be in charge, and there was no reason the person being penetrated could not be in charge. LeFou was sure Gaston would like it more if he was in control.

“Just-- keep doing that,” Gaston growled.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” LeFou lied coyly.

Gaston was up in a moment, throwing LeFou down upon the bed. “Just--” he panted, stroking LeFou’s cock. LeFou helped by adding more lard to himself.

“Gaston, I don’t think you’re ready,” LeFou lied again.

All he got in response was an unintelligible growl as Gaston straddled him. LeFou was very hard at the sight of Gaston so animal and undone, and the pause while Gaston got a feel for the mechanics was painful to LeFou’s aching cock. Finally, Gaston slid the tip of LeFou’s cock into his entrance. He grunted, then growled, “I need it in me _now_.”

LeFou entered Gaston as slowly as he could to make sure Gaston would enjoy it, but Gaston seemed to embrace any pain he was feeling. Once LeFou was fully inside, Gaston sighed as though he had found peace.

And then he began to move. It didn’t take long for Gaston to find the pleasure he sought, and his hands left bruises on LeFou’s biceps as he leaned forward for a better angle, eyes open but unseeing as he rode LeFou.

LeFou, for his part, probably looked as undone as Gaston. Gaston was unbearably tight, and he moved both of them so that LeFou could do little but hold on and try to survive this, like a man on top of a runaway horse, foot caught in the stirrup. It was amazing. It was what _LeFou_ loved-- to not have to think or move or care-- to simply exist in a state of pleasure.

It was eventually too much pleasure, though, and LeFou’s back arched as his body spat seed into Gaston. Perhaps jealous of LeFou’s completion, Gaston took this chance to ride LeFou harder and faster. The bed rocked so hard it began to shift along the floorboards.

Finally, Gaston came with what could truly only be described as a howl. His hands lifted LeFou’s shoulders from the bed and slammed him back down again, even while Gaston’s seed spread across LeFou’s chest. “Yes,” Gaston growled. “Yes. That. Yes.” And then Gaston sagged, breathing hard like a run out horse.

“My God, are you alright?” LeFou panted.

Gaston’s eyes were still glazed as he pulled himself off of LeFou’s soft cock with a noticeable wince. “I didn’t… I didn’t expect…” His eyes cleared and alarm swam into his features. “Are _you_ alright? Your arms…”

LeFou looked down to see purple and red blooms where Gaston had been holding him. He grinned. “I’m perfect.”

“You _are_ perfect.”

“And you are an animal, mon ours. There is truly nothing you don’t do well.”

Gaston laughed and sank into the bed next to LeFou, still out of breath. “I might accuse you of the same thing.” He turned on his side and swept the hair off LeFou’s face with impossible tenderness. “You are so beautiful. So wonderful, my Fabien.”

LeFou blushed, and it caused Gaston to chuckle and kiss him on the nose.

“So, which do you prefer?” LeFou asked shyly.

“I prefer anything, so long as it’s here with you. What about you?”

“I must admit, I feel a bit jealous. I enjoy the sensation of being filled. This was fine. But not my preference, if I’m honest.”

“Please always be honest,” Gaston said as he wove their hands together.

“You know,” LeFou sighed, “You’re nothing like they think.”

“Good. Whoever _they_ are, they can stay out of our bedroom.”

LeFou smiled. He sat up and used his own discarded shirt to wipe Gaston’s seed from his chest and belly. He lied back down with his head resting on Gaston’s chest, ear pressed against the drumbeat of Gaston’s racing heart. Alive! He was alive! He had fallen from a tower, been left for dead, had come back a monster, had nearly been burned at the stake, and tried to get LeFou to slice his throat, but despite all of this, he was here and he was completely and perfectly alive.

“Tomorrow I’m going out riding,” Gaston said, interrupting LeFou’s thoughts. “Just as soon as the sun sets. I need fresh air, mon ami. I’m not made for the insides of houses.”

LeFou nodded, understanding. “And if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to stay home. I’ve had quite enough of riding out in winter night to last me a lifetime.”


	8. February

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gaston gets two letters. Also, Gaston is a dick, and so is Dick.

There were no more harsh storms for the remainder of January nor into the beginnings of February. Still, January had left its mark on both LeFou and Gaston. LeFou persisted in staying indoors during the coldest weather, and Gaston insisted on being outside despite it. LeFou tried to remember what they had done every other winter of their friendship. This was, after all, far from the first winter they had known each other. And yet spending as much intimate time as he had with Gaston had erased what came before. Oh, LeFou _remembered_ it clearly enough, but, like a dream, it did not make complete sense. In a normal February, LeFou would stay at home. What would he do? He could not recall. How did he fill hours and hours alone? And Gaston would presumably do whatever Gaston had done-- once again, LeFou did not know what that was. In the late afternoon, they would both trek to the Tavern independently, and there spend the afternoon and evening eating, drinking, carousing, laughing, singing. In the early morning they would somehow each get back to their own homes. LeFou recalled that he used to sleep the drink off each morning, make himself a hardy breakfast, maybe chop firewood if it was needed. All the while, he had been thinking about seeing Gaston later. Why had they not spent the day together? Why had they not eaten breakfast together? Why had they parted for sleep? It seemed ridiculous in retrospect.

And now, after the events of January, LeFou preferred to stay home. Gaston, though, needed fresh air. Gaston chopped the firewood and cared for the horses and chickens with a nervous energy that set LeFou on edge.

To make matters worse, the neighbors had a little boy and he had taken sick. LeFou did bring a stew over once, but the rest of the time they were assailed day and night by the lad’s crying and coughing. When the babe cried, LeFou wished it would hush, but when the sound stopped, LeFou worried for the boy and wanted nothing more than to hear screaming again. It was undoing his nerves.

On the few evenings when they did go to the Tavern, LeFou didn’t enjoy himself as he used to. Was that because of Christian, or last month’s trading caravan? LeFou never pissed alone, and he never sat too close to Gaston. He didn’t sing with his usual enthusiasm. He felt he was performing the part of a friend, afraid he had forgotten the difference between how a friend behaves and how a lover does. LeFou found himself watching other pairs of friends, trying to emulate their demeanor. It was exhausting. It was easier to stay home. He had not thought that being in a relationship would turn him into such a homebody, but he didn’t judge himself too harshly. He allowed that he’d experienced more than his share of traumatic events in the past year and likely needed rest.

*****

One morning, while dressing, Gaston heard a sturdy knock on their cottage door. LeFou was busy making pies, so Gaston opened it, one hand still tucking his shirt into his trousers. Outside stood a red-faced lad. The boy doubled over and handed two letters to Gaston while trying to catch his breath in the cold February air.

Gaston wrinkled his nose in disgust at the boy and snapped the letters from him before slamming the door. From the kitchen, he heard LeFou tut disapprovingly and cross the room to their shared purse, from whence he removed two coins. LeFou opened the door. The boy was still standing there, looking dumbstruck. LeFou passed over the coins and the boy burst into smiles and ran away.

“Really?” LeFou sighed at Gaston.

Gaston shrugged. “ _I_ didn’t send these, and I certainly didn’t ask him to kill himself running them out here in the cold. I don’t see why I should have to pay.”

“Because that is how the world works,” LeFou stated calmly, returning to the kitchen.

Gaston shrugged off the mild rebuke and turned to the letters, sitting down to read. The first was written in a steady and clear hand. As he read it, he sat forward, moving to the edge of his oversized chair. The letter started perfectly, as though he had crafted it himself.

_Monsieur Gaston of Villeneuve, I have heard tell of your prowess in war, your uncompromising courage, your unparalleled skill with a bow, your great success in hunting, your impeccable aim with throwing knives, and your revered command style._

His curiosity was piqued and he read on.

_I admit I am intimidated to write one such as yourself, but you will see that I have good reason, and I pray you will be able to take time from your very busy schedule to meet with me. I am arriving in Villeneuve on the seventeenth of April to meet you, but it is not just because I have heard of and admire you. I am the son of Mademoiselle Madeleine Beaugendre of the town of Cair, and she has informed me that I am your son._

Excitement blossomed in Gaston’s chest. A son! He never thought he’d have such. Belle had been his last futile chance at that life. After all, LeFou would not be bearing him any sons.

LeFou… Trepidation, and finally something bordering on outright fear, overtook Gaston’s excitement. What would his son think of his eccentric new lifestyle, living as he did with LeFou? Gaston folded the letter and placed it back in its envelope. He folded the envelope and shoved it into his pocket. He would think about that letter another day. It was too much to digest, and he couldn’t concentrate with LeFou watching him..

He tore into the second letter, eager to put the first out of his mind. The second letter did a good job of it, too:

_Monsieur Thibeault Gaston of Villeneuve,_

_You may not remember me, as I last saw you when you were scarcely more than a lad, though you were easily six feet tall. You see, I remember you! My name is Jean-Claude Fresnel, and I was your father’s aid. You could say I was a private secretary for his affairs-- and finances-- here in Paris. I should clarify that I mean his unofficial affairs._

_I retired from my official position as an accountant and while cleaning out my office I came across a box of your father’s personal effects. Most of it is papers, much of which would be better off burned. There are a few things that may be of interest to you, though-- personal letters, some to your mother and some addressed to other names I know not the significance of. There is a sketch or two of a pretty woman, perhaps your mother._

_I will hold these effects until I hear from you regarding your intention to recover them, or else I can dispose of them along with the rest of your father’s financial paperwork._

_Please respond._

_Monsieur Jean-Claude Fresnel of Paris_

Gaston snorted. “This man,” he said, holding the letter aloft, “was a conniving weasel twenty years ago and he sounds no less so now.”

“Who?” LeFou asked. He was re-organizing their food larder though God knew why. LeFou had been going just a little batty this winter.

“Ah, just my father’s money handler for his illegal affairs. He found some papers and letters of my father’s and wants me to come all the way to Paris to recover them.”

“Oh! I wonder what they are.”

“Ashes,” Gaston answered simply, standing. “Where did I put the quill? I haven’t written a letter in ages.”

“I… I don’t think we have one. I’ve _never_ written a letter, and I certainly didn’t bother saving your quill from… after… well.”

Gaston waved him off and frowned down at the letter. “Now this is a _real_ inconvenience. I have to go spend hard-earned money on ink, a quill, paper…” He turned over the letter and saw that the back was clean. “I’ll just use the back,” he decided aloud. That made him feel particularly prickled at the idea of going into town for a quill and ink. For one letter? One _short_ letter? He shook his head and approached the hearth, poking at the coals of the fire until one dark one rolled onto the floor. He picked it up and set the paper down on the table, back side up. Across the back he scratched with the coal:

_BURN IT ALL_

“What did you write?” LeFou asked, mouth open in shock.

Gaston didn’t answer, putting the letter back in its original envelope. He found a convenient candle and lit it over the hearth fire, then dropped the wax along the envelope’s edge. Finally, on the front of the envelope, he used the coal to cross off his own name and circle Monsieur Fresnel’s address in Paris.

“We… aren’t going to Paris, are we?” LeFou asked. Gaston looked up at LeFou and saw undisguised disappointment in LeFou’s eyes.

“You don’t want to go to Paris,” Gaston assured him. “It smells like piss.”

“I’ve been,” LeFou said defensively.

“That wasn’t Paris,” Gaston objected. “We were stationed miles from the main part of Paris, and for less than a fortnight.”

“All the more reason to see the city, then,” LeFou huffed.

Gaston sighed and leaned back. “I don’t want these papers. I don’t want to see them, or touch them. I don’t care about them. And I won’t ride to that cess pit just to throw them in a fire with my own hands. You won’t change my mind on this.”

LeFou held up his hands in surrender.

“Besides,” Gaston continued, “If you want to travel, there are better destinations. Geneva is too beautiful for words. Or Marseille! This time of year, Marseille is perfect. It’s always warm and sunny there, you know.”

“You’ve been, then?” LeFou asked.

“Once. I wasn’t older than thirteen. What I remember most is the beach. The water was this perfect blue, and all around women were bathing with only their smocks on. I believe I came of age that night,” Gaston chuckled to himself. “Even you would not be unmoved by the sight.”

LeFou rubbed his neck. “I dunno. You would be surprised at how unmoved I can be at the female form.”

“Well, the men swim too.”

“Right. So when are we leaving?”

Gaston laughed. “You have no shame.”

“I am far past shame, Gaston, at least as it regards my attractions.” His hand moved, kneading at the muscles of Gaston’s shoulders.

Gaston stretched his neck and groaned with pleasure at the touch. “That’s my own good fortune,” he hummed. “But truly, do you want to go to Marseille?”

When LeFou didn’t answer for a very long time, Gaston turned and saw him chewing his bottom lip in consideration.

“What?” Gaston said. “Tell me your thoughts.”

“Well… it’s such a long trip. And cold.”

“It’s both of those, yes, but Paris is farther, and colder, and you were ready then.”

“Yes but that was when I thought you would have business in Paris. I wasn’t planning to go just for folly. I’m not that selfish.”

Realization struck Gaston then-- LeFou’s hesitation was over fears he was being selfish. Gaston stood, placing one hand on each of LeFou’s shoulders. “You are the least selfish person I have ever met. You would be hard-pressed to find a single person who would disagree with me.”

“But the expense--”

“I’ve no lack of funds.”

“That money is better saved for an emergency.”

“My love, this may be an emergency.”

“How so?”

“If I have to see you rearrange the food larder one more time, I might burn down the cottage just so I won’t have to see it any more.”

Pink color flooded into LeFou’s cheeks.

“You’re bored. And tired. And cold,” Gaston continued.

“Not tired,” LeFou protested weakly.

“Not in your body, but in your heart. Something has tired you. Was it me? Something I did?”

LeFou balked at this. “What? No, definitely not. I’m tired of watching everything I do, everything I say, whenever we leave the house. And I’m tired of staying in the house. But Gaston, that would only be worse in Marseille. It’s not Villeneuve. We’d have to pretend, we’d have to take separate lodgings.

Gaston grunted. He had not thought of this, and just the idea of sleeping in separate rooms filled him with anxiety.

“Okay,” Gaston nodded. “We’re going to be living Villeneuve, presumably for a long time yet to come.”

“One can hope.”

“There may be other travelers who take exception to our arrangement, but if anyone else in Villeneuve is offended, they would have taken up with Christian. I don’t think there are many with the nerve to speak against us. And certainly fewer with the nerve to speak against both us and the Prince. So my proposal is this-- let us be expressive in public. Stop pretending. Let them get tired of seeing us. You have no reason to hide. You’ve committed no crime.”

“Well, actually--”

“In the eyes of our local lord, _you have committed no crime_.”

“You weren’t the person Christian beat and threatened, Gaston.”

Gaston felt exasperation rise in his chest, but he pushed it back down. He wanted to stamp his feet and yell at LeFou to stop being a coward, but he was learning to control his anger now. He paced the room, his muscles bunching. It was true, he had not been beaten behind the Tavern. When he thought of Christian, he still felt the impulse to track the man to the ends of the Earth, to kill him slowly and painfully. When he saw that LeFou held bruises from the beating long after the ones on his skin had disappeared, Gaston’s desire to kill Christian deepened. He breathed, and focused on breathing. He needed to clear his mind.

He returned to LeFou, coming to him from behind and wrapping his arms around the shorter man. LeFou hummed and rocked in pleasure and Gaston let himself ride the little wave of joy that bubbled up inside of him. Finally, he leaned towards LeFou’s ear and spoke. “You have a choice before you, my love. Either we trek to Marseille and watch the naked men in the blue surf, or you’ll come to the tavern with me right now, and let me show you how unaffected our little town is.”

Gaston heard LeFou swallow in his throat. Finally, LeFou spoke quietly, asking “What do you mean to do?”

“Nothing a man and a woman wouldn’t do in the tavern.”

LeFou sighed. “It’s a good thing for you that I was just considering what a homebody I am. We’ll go to the tavern, then.” His voice was laced with resignation and reticence, and Gaston was besot. He loved nothing more than to wear LeFou down until he relented to doing something that was wicked and fun.

*****

The Tavern was crowded that evening; most people had little else to do in the winter after they’d finished their day of work. There weren’t many farmers about, as they rarely had the coin to spend in the winter, but Tom and Dick were there playing cards. Stanley had been scarce lately, and LeFou suspected it had to do with his new beau, but he would not say anything about it just in case Tom and Dick didn’t know. He could only pray Gaston kept his mouth shut as well.

“Where’s Stanley tonight?” Gaston boomed, pulling over a chair for himself and gesturing LeFou to join their friends.

“He hasn’t been around a lot,” mused Dick. “I hope he’s not having money trouble.”

Gaston puffed out his cheeks. LeFou kicked him under the table but Gaston paid no notice as he exclaimed, “He’s probably warming someone’s toes.”

Tom and Dick stared at Gaston blank-faced. “What?” Dick said. “Who?” Tom whispered.

“Nothing and no one,” LeFou said, asking to be dealt into their card game to derail the conversation.

“Oh,” Gaston clicked his tongue. “It looks like Stanley tells my LeFou things he doesn’t tell the two of you.”

“In confidence,” LeFou hissed in a stage whisper. “I don’t think he meant for it to become barroom gossip.”

Gaston frowned. “Come now, if that was true, he wouldn’t have told _you_.”

“Me?” LeFou squeaked. “I keep secrets better than half the town.”

“Yes,” Gaston nodded, “You do.” His eyes twinkled. “But you have a profound weakness. You always tell them to _me_.”

LeFou deflated; there was truth to Gaston’s words. Surely Stanley didn’t expect LeFou to keep this a secret from Gaston, and once Gaston knew, well… Gaston wasn’t a gossip exactly, but he always seemed to forget what was and was not proprietary information. If it floated to the top of his brain, he opened his mouth and let it out. In truth, it was an endearing trait as much as it was frustrating; one of the things LeFou loved about Gaston was he never left you wondering where you stood or what he thought of you. LeFou’s childhood had been too filled with children who pretended to like him only to humiliate him or get something from him, and Gaston possessed no subtlety.

Dick proceeded to deal the cards, but Tom was not ready to let the subject drop. His face contorted in what looked like pain and he said, “I know he’s… like you, but… he actually is _seeing_ someone? A _man_?”

“You know everything I know about Stanley’s personal life,” LeFou said, hoping to drop the subject.

“I sincerely doubt that,” Dick said under his breath.

To everyone’s dismay, it was Gaston who caught the mutter. Gaston’s voice rumbled dangerously as he said, “What was that you said, Dick?”

Dick blanched. “I mean, only that… for a time… I mean, when we thought you were dead…” He didn’t finished his statement.

Tom finished it for him though, helping no one, “He means Stanley and LeFou were lovers.”

LeFou did not think Gaston needed reminding. “Once,” LeFou said, not really expecting it to help.

Dick spread his cards in his hand but his face contorted. “How do two men even… No, I don’t want to know.”

“Oh come,” Gaston huffed, “You’re no maid, Dick. How many women have you been with?”

Dick reddened but didn’t answer.

“I bet you’ve been with more of the women of Villeneuve than _I_ have.”

“Only because I don’t travel,” Dick supplied. “They’re the only ones available to me.”

Gaston eased back into his chair. “Well I think it’s a shame Stanley doesn’t simply bring his beau around to the Tavern. We could do with some new company.”

Dick’s jaw clenched visibly. “I’d rather he didn’t,” he said.

“Dick…,” Tom warned quietly.

“What, you don’t like to think of it?” Gaston’s tone was teasing. He was purposely inciting Dick, and Dick would do best to shut his mouth before he dug himself into a hole.

Tom and LeFou’s eyes met across the table, sharing a look of resignation. They both knew neither Dick nor Gaston would let it go so easily.

Dick was glaring at Gaston. “Look, I don’t care what you do at home, but I don’t want to have to _see_ it.”

LeFou had no hard feelings for Dick. In fact, he understood. LeFou felt pretty uncomfortable whenever Dick had a girl join their table, when he bit her ears or when his hand slipped under her skirts without any shame. Remembering Gaston’s earlier promise to not do anything a man and woman wouldn’t do together in the Tavern, LeFou turned red.

As if on cue, Gaston’s eyes lit with mischief. “So it would bother you if I kissed LeFou? Right here?”

Dick had the sense not to answer, but Gaston would not be put off.

“Even if it was just a little peck?” Gaston continued. He turned LeFou’s face and their eyes met-- LeFou trying to wordlessly warn Gaston not to push this even while Gaston’s eyes laughed. He leaned forward and planted a chaste kiss on LeFou’s mouth.

Dick was reddening, but he was focusing on his cards, seeming to realize what he was bringing on himself. Thank the lord for small miracles, LeFou thought. Dick was not going to get in a fight over this. He had at least that much sense.

“Did that not bother you?” Gaston asked. “Well, this might…” Gaston suddenly held LeFou’s face firmly in his hands and their mouths met. Gaston’s kill was wild, aggressive, and LeFou found himself pushing Gaston away.

“Hey!” LeFou said. He was not entirely comfortable with this. He turned to Gaston to reprimand Gaston, but he saw that Gaston was no longer laughing. He looked hurt. LeFou quieted his tone but still wanted to make this clear, “Please don’t kiss me to mock our friends, Gaston.”

Gaston’s face fell. He looked at Tom and Dick, who were watching the exchange with guarded curiosity. Gaston sighed. “I guess I bungle everything up.”

“That’s definitely not true,” Tom said. “You do most everything perfectly. That’s probably why you notice when you do something less than perfectly.”

“It’s just--” Gaston’s shoulders slumped. “LeFou was feeling down on account of the trouble we’ve had at the Tavern for the last few months. I thought I could show him that we could be ourselves and not make trouble. But I was wrong.” He stood. “Dick, maybe you’re right. Men can’t be together outside of their homes. I’ll head back to mine so LeFou can enjoy his evening.”

“No--” LeFou stood. “I can go home and you--”

Gaston merely pulled on his great coat and walked out.

Watching Gaston’s retreating back, LeFou felt guilty. He wondered if he shouldn’t have stood up to Gaston, if he should have returned the kiss.

“Shit,” Dick cursed. He stood, snatched his own greatcoat, and followed Gaston outside.

*****

Gaston turned towards home, his head down, when he heard Dick behind him.

“Gaston! Gaston! Wait a moment!”

The wind was howling fiercely and both men had their chins ducked into their greatcoats. Gaston turned to watch Dick run across the street. They both slid into the crevice between two buildings to get out of the wind.

“Gaston, I-- You know I wouldn’t hurt LeFou.”

“I know that. We’re friends, Dick. I have no hard feelings. I know how the world works. I just wanted to believe that Villeneuve was somehow different from the rest of the world. That here, at least, LeFou and I could just be ourselves. All winter I feel I’ve been reminded how untrue that is.”

“I am sorry,” said Dick, and Gaston judged that he really meant it. “Come back, be yourself,” Dick urged. “I will learn to keep my thoughts to myself, just as you’ve learned to control your anger.”

Gaston sighed. “It just feels too rich coming from you. You often have a woman right in public--”

“Yes, I know,” Dick threw up his hands. “But it feels different to me, to see a man and a woman kiss than to see two men.”

“Maybe you’ll get used to it,” Gaston offered.

Dick shrugged.

“Meanwhile, I promise not to throw it in your face.”

“Will you come back to the table then?”

Gaston looked up at the falling flurries for a moment. After all, this was Gaston’s fault wasn’t it? Hadn’t he mocked Dick. Dick had been a good reliable friend and had never said anything before. Gaston chastised himself for looking for enemies even in his friends. Nodding, he said “Only if I get to kiss LeFou.”

“Do whatever you like.”

“Don’t I always?”


End file.
